Shadows of Ourselves
by InkFairy
Summary: Draco Malfoy has played both sides of the war for years, but when Voldemort gives him an ultimatum—bring him Hermione Granger or die—she surprisingly agrees to be handed over to the Dark Lord. Together, they take pureblood society by storm as Master and Madam Malfoy, all while trying to help the Order find and destroy the last Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort forever.
1. Stalemate

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 1: Stalemate**

_Stalemate: A position in which the player whose turn it is to move has no legal move and his king is not in check. A stalemate results in an immediate draw._

Friday, June 13, 2003

* * *

A weary and disheartened company, weighed down by years of trouble, tension, and toil, sat in the shadowy kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The customary sit-down dinners where everyone tucked in at the worn wooden table, when the room would fill with voices and laughter, had long disappeared. Now everyone sat where he or she wished, whether at the table, by the fireplace, or in a dark corner. The only person not sitting was standing at the kitchen counter, close to a cauldron of stew hanging over the fireplace. She was methodically cutting vegetables for tonight's supper.

"Voldemort's waiting," said Harry, staring pensively at the rim of his mug as he slouched at the head of the table. His words were directed to those seated haphazardly around him. "He's waiting for us to make the first move."

"And why shouldn't we?" demanded Ron, sitting at Harry's left. He had been reclining with his feet up on the table, but they flew down as soon as Harry finished talking. "For seven years, we've waited for Voldemort to make the first move. Why not make the first move now? Give him a taste of his own medicine?"

Tiredly, as if he had pointed this out dozens of times before (which he had), Lupin, sitting directly across from Ron, said, "Because we can't just rush headlong into things, Ron."

"Because that's exactly what he wants us to do, laddie," Mad-Eye Moody added from his place by the kitchen fire, wooden leg propped up against the stone wall.

"Then what should we do?" asked Tonks, now pacing back and forth behind Lupin. She still had energy left to pace.

Lupin stared long and hard at the fire. "Well," he began slowly, "taking the defensive has gotten us this far—"

"Not all of us," Ron interrupted harshly. "And some only part way."

Silence fell. The methodical thud of a knife hitting a cutting board filled the room as it sliced through carrot after carrot. After a long while, Harry spoke again.

"No one ever said it was going to be easy, Ron," he said quietly.

"But that certainly doesn't mean we're going to give up now, not after all we've been through," said Ginny, sitting between Harry and Ron. There was feeling behind her words, something little heard these days.

"I agree with Remus and Mad-Eye," Harry said finally, seeming to draw strength from Ginny's words. "We wait. For now."

"I go with what Harry says," Ginny said simply.

"I agree. It's the wisest move, though I wish it were for a reason as sentimental as Ginny's," Tonks said with an almost teasing glance at Lupin. Almost.

"Waiting would give us time to gather our resources, assess the situation, and think of a strategy if we want to prepare for an offensive move in the future," Kingsley Shacklebolt voiced from his place at the other end of the table.

"So you're all content to stay holed up here in Grimmauld, waiting for Voldemort to take out the nearest thousand or so Muggles in the next county?" Ron said bitterly.

No one answered Ron. His gaze traveled from person to person, from the back of the one making supper to the silent shadowy form in the corner of the room. Of those whose faces he could see, no one could look him straight in the eye.

"So we do nothing," he said in disbelief, throwing up his arms. "This is the decision of the only remaining members of the glorious Order of the Phoenix, last defenders of the wizarding world. Unanimous vote, too!" He slapped his hand palm-side down on the table to emphasize the derision in his voice.

Nearly everyone flinched. The vegetable cutting did not waver and neither did the continuous creaking of a chair in the darkest corner, farthest away from the fireplace. Its occupant kept the furniture propped on its back legs, swaying ever-so-slightly back and forth, to the same time as the knife hitting the cutting board.

"Not all of us have spoken," Lupin said calmly. He half-turned and spoke over his shoulder. "Hermione?"

They all waited patiently for the last carrot to be sliced with the utmost precision. This was unhurriedly followed by the cutting board being swept up from the counter, then a scraping noise as the carrots were pushed into the pot of stew with the aid of the knife. Finally, both knife and cutting board were set aside, hands were wiped neatly on a nearby washcloth, and Hermione Granger faced the others' expectant faces.

Her eyes fell first on Harry, the only hope of the wizarding world. The tiredness in his face, the slump of his shoulders—all were evidence of this weight taking its toll on a man only 22. The beautiful green eyes never sparkled anymore. She would not be surprised if one of these days the jet black hair began to turn grey. There were lines on his face that should not have appeared for another 20 years. Yet, despite his youth, he had led them this far. He was a true leader, a true Gryffindor, and she would remain loyal to him to whatever end.

Ron, too, was no longer a boy. Taller than Harry, as he had always been, the gangly limbs had thickened out into muscle. Goofy grins were never seen on his face now. There was a constant frown line on his forehead, and his eyes were almost always narrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out battle strategies. He had always been able to look at the war as one would view a chessboard. The loss of his mother and father had brought out a wily yet bitter side in him. But he, too, would also stick by Harry to the very end.

Ginny was very much behind the power of the throne. She may have resented such a post under different circumstances, but personal ambitions had been laid aside for the war. She was Harry's rock, his support in the most hopeless of times, when he would bend under the weight of everyone's hopes and expectations. She brought him out of despair when he sank to its deepest depths.

Lupin, as always, was the wise uncle whom everyone went to for counsel when it was needed. He was greyer than ever, with the weary air of a man who had been through too much, and his robes were bare threads held together by sheer will. Tonks was as devoted to him as Ginny was to Harry. Though perhaps her hair color choices were not as vibrant as they once had been, she had given the older man a spark of life. Lupin had been slow to show affection, as life had made him cautious, but it was apparent he returned her feelings to the same degree. It almost made Hermione smile to think that love could bloom in such hostile conditions. Almost.

Moody still labored under the delusion he was the Auror he had been 25 years ago and refused to be convinced he would be more useful staying at Grimmauld and watching the fire for messages, rare as they were these days. Hermione understood why Moody's pride suffered under such degradation, but it could not be helped or denied. His reflexes were slow, his eyesight failing, and sometimes he drifted off in the middle of their meetings, but his tongue were as sharp as ever.

Kingsley had been promoted to Head of the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic, whatever that meant these days. The Ministry was merely a puppet organization that existed for the sake of existing, with Voldemort pulling the strings. Many of the wizards and witches who worked there were no more loyal to Voldemort than the Order was, but they didn't dare resist. Government was dead in the wizarding world.

It had been dead ever since the Battle at the Department of Mysteries seven years ago, but it had managed to keep up a facade of normalcy for a couple more years. After Dumbledore's death, she, Harry, and Ron had gone looking for the Horcruxes instead of returning to school and had found and destroyed a few of them before they had been captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. Though they had been saved by Dobby, they had been forced to retreat back to Grimmauld to recover and had stayed there ever since, no closer to finding the last Horcruxes than they had been five years ago.

By that time, news of attacks across the country had been pouring in every day. First, the rest of the Bones had been eliminated, including Susan Bones of Hufflepuff. The Longbottoms followed, grandmother and grandson. The evidence at Neville's home told a tale of a great and brave fight. He had been a promising wizard, the blood of Aurors strong in his veins, and when Neville fell, he took two Death Eaters with him. Seamus Finnegan disappeared the day before his initiation into the Order, his body later found in the Thames. Lee Jordan followed Seamus, and Dean Thomas followed Lee. The Patil twins fled to India, Lavender Brown to the United States. Rumors floated back of other classmates scattered across the globe, biding their time and hoping Voldemort didn't reach beyond the shores of the United Kingdom.

Muggle attacks were rampant yet sporadic. Sometimes, the Order had no way of knowing when and where the next attack would be. Buildings collapsed, bridges fell. Muggle London turned into a ghost town as its inhabitants, Muggle and wizarding alike, rushed overseas. King's Cross Station was obliterated on a September 1, killing many of the students who were waiting to board the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione had been the one on guard duty at the train station that day, and she had been distracted by a glimpse of her mother and father in the station. They were supposed to be in Australia, safe and sound and far away, completely ignorant to the fact that they had a daughter. She'd left her post by the barrier to Platform 9 3/4 for a moment to try to catch up with them, and that little slip was all the Death Eaters had needed. Someone closed the barrier, trapping in those who had already gone through, injuring or killing nearly everyone there. And they hadn't limited their attack to just the wizarding part of King's Cross. They brought down the famed roof, raining glass and steel down on everyone. The Order later found Hermione, miraculously alive beneath the rubble, lying lying 20 feet away from the bodies of her parents.

That had been three years ago, and she hadn't set foot outside Grimmauld Place ever since. It had taken her awhile to recover from her injuries, both mental and physical. For months afterward, she had been tortured by the memory of the screams of her mother, the shouts of her father as the roof collapsed and curses were flung left and right, through chaos and debris. But most of all, she could still hear the cries of the children, sobbing for their parents and crying out for help as the roof of the famed old station collapsed on top of them. It was all her fault. The clever, ever-reliable Hermione Granger had made a mistake, and though the Order had never blamed her, they'd never really looked at her the same again.

When it seemed things couldn't get any worse, tragedy struck again. The Weasleys had been targets ever since the first war, and they knew it. But that had not stopped Molly and Arthur Weasley, with their four eldest sons, excluding Percy, from making a trip to the countryside to help evacuate the Muggles from Ottery St. Catchpole, the town near the Burrow. Molly and Arthur died side by side on the town's Main Street in the subsequent attack. Their sons had managed to escape with their lives, but George had been subjected to a Cruciatus Curse that had lasted too long. He now lay upstairs, very much out of his mind.

In their grief, the Weasley family had fractured. Charlie went to go help the resistance in Romania, Bill and Fleur with their young family to France, and Fred and his then newly married, newly pregnant wife Angelina Johnson to America. Quietly, because it was necessary, Hermione had taken Molly Weasley's place, and the others had let her.

Hermione blinked, remembering that she had been asked something.

"It's been seven years since the Battle in the Department of Mysteries," she said softly, "seven years of war. Today is the day Harry, Ron, and I would have had our five-year reunion. Even if Hogwarts were still open, hardly any of our classmates are in the country or even alive."

"It's all very well thinking about all this, Granger," Moody growled impatiently. "But that doesn't help us!"

"What are driving at, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, patiently.

"I'm tired, Harry." She stated it so simply and matter-of-factly that anyone who did not know her would have doubted her sincerity. Indeed, the body in the creaking chair gave a derisive snort at her words, but she continued. "I don't want to wait anymore. I'm at the point where I'm willing to do anything for it to end."

As if to punctuate the end of this moving speech, the chair in the corner came down on all four legs with a decisive _thud_.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," the figure proclaimed as he emerged from the shadows, one almost delicate hand brushing imaginary lint off an immaculate sleeve.

"And why would that be, Malfoy?" she inquired.

He hitched on a smirk, charm on for the maximum effect.

"Because, Granger, your desperation just might be our salvation if you accept my proposal..." he paused for dramatic effect, "... and consent to be my wife."


	2. Push

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 2: Push**

_Push: To move a pawn forward._

Friday, June 13, 2003

* * *

Draco stepped back to admire his handiwork. He had rendered the Order completely speechless—not an easy feat, if he did say so himself. In days of old, this would have been cause for celebration, but he only felt a vague sense of accomplishment now. Perhaps if he were dealing with the same people he had known before the war, the satisfaction would have been greater. But, as it were, the people who stared back at him in absolute shock were not quite as great as they had once been, causing the victory to sour a bit. If he, too, hadn't been somewhat reduced under the strain of war, he would have ridiculed these wizards and witches who had become mere shadows of their former selves. Glorious Order of the Phoenix indeed.

There was Saint Potter, his features controlled, but Draco practically could see his mind working furiously. Draco wanted to scorn this slumping figure. It was hard to believe that the fate of the entire wizarding world rested on shoulders that looked so weak. Couldn't the man sit up straight once in a while, or did he need his girlfriend to prop up his spine for him? Seven years of war, and he still only had that blasted scar to show for it. But there always was someone else willing to take the hit for precious Potter—isn't that how half the Order ended up six feet underground in the cemetery across the square?

Then there was faithful Weasley, the sidekick. If Potter wasn't so obviously enamored with the Weasel's sister, Draco would have voiced his suspicions of the true nature of Weasley's affection for Scarhead. Much as Ron put on airs about being the Order's top strategist, Draco couldn't disabuse himself of the thought that Weasley was pure idiot. He sure looked like one now as he gawped, first at him, then at Granger.

The She-Weasel was quite a different story. In other times, under different circumstances, Draco was sure they would have gotten along quite nicely. This girl had Voldemort's number one enemy wrapped around her finger. If she only possessed some sort of ambition, she could have been great.

Lupin was ... a werewolf. Draco hadn't had that great an experience with werewolves, as Fenrir Greyback had scared the shit out of him when he was six years old, but despite his lycanthropy, the old prof had a good head on his shoulders and had kept Potter and Weasley from carrying out their stupid plans more than once. If he could remember the Malfoy family tree correctly, he and Lupin's wife, Nymphadora, were first cousins. Half-blood, of course. But honestly, he had already chosen his enemies, he couldn't very well have his pick in allies too. These days, even a Malfoy couldn't afford to do that.

Draco steered clear of Moody whenever possible. The man was 30 feet of his rocker and firmly convinced Draco was a triple agent for Voldemort. It was convenient the ex-Auror liked occupying the seat by the fireplace; Draco rather preferred sitting in the shadowy corner farthest from him, invisible until the moment he chose to remind everyone of his presence.

He had very little contact with Shacklebolt, who didn't attend meetings half the time because of his obligations to the Ministry. Like it was so easy for Draco to get away from Voldemort's all-seeing, hell-red eyes to have tea with Scarhead.

So how _had_ Draco Malfoy, Death Eater and pureblood extraordinaire, ended up with the Order at Grimmauld Place? Well, it was a rather long story, but in the end it came down to his mother. After his failed attempt to kill Dumbledore, the Malfoy family had been disgraced. His father remained in Azkaban, and he had stayed with Snape at Spinner's End, waiting out Voldemort's wrath. Then the owl came from his Aunt Bella that his mother was dying.

She had inadvertently insulted the Dark Lord, and he had punished her accordingly. Draco managed to make it to her bedside before she died, just in time for her to tell him to "Make the right decision, Draco. Make me proud." The next day, he went to Voldemort to beg forgiveness for his and his family's sins, and he was welcomed back like the prodigal son. That same night, he found the Order; after a grueling week of interrogations that made him long for Death Eater initiation, he had joined its dwindling ranks, the newest and the last recruit.

And now, here he stood with their fates in his (and Granger's) hand.

Animation was returning to his shocked audience. Ron had recovered enough to begin to look angry, Ginny following close behind. Harry was perturbed, unsure of what ulterior motive Draco might have but not discrediting him immediately. Everyone else already had, believing he was only stirring the pot to get a rise out of his former classmates.

Hermione was standing quite still, looking him with a slightly tilted head and almost blank eyes, as if she were beginning to think of something else, like a grocery list for her next Godric-awful stew. Draco was somewhat annoyed he had such little impact on her, of all people. He had just proposed, after all.

"Seven years of war, five years of full-out warfare," Draco recapped. "You—we can't go on like this, hiding here while Voldemort gains more allies. Being on the defensive has worked out well enough to get us here, but it can't take us any further."

"So you and Miss Granger setting up house will get us out of this mess?" Moody growled. "What are you going to do, produce the next Dark Lord to defeat this one?"

"Now, _that's_ an idea—"

"How does this help us, Malfoy?" Harry asked, trying to sound rational. But Draco heard the edge in his voice.

"I agree with Granger," Draco said. He ignored the sounds of their disbelief. "Boredom's going to kill me if an _Avada_ doesn't. I, too, am willing to do anything for this to end."

"And marrying me will help achieve that?" Hermione asked. It was not a challenge, and she was not being sarcastic. She was curious, and Draco knew she would seriously consider his plan if he presented correctly.

He began walking down the length of the kitchen, flourishing under their undivided attention. "Voldemort likes collecting things, trophies. The Death Eater roster reads like a who's who of blood purity, yes, but also of power. He cares about power most of all, and Vldemort has been aware of your magical ability and your intelligence for a very long time now, Granger, ever since you walked in with Potter into the Department of Mysteries seven years ago.

"He's been wondering where you've been all this time," Draco continued. "No one's seen or heard of you since your ... since the attack on King's Cross Station. I'd say he's almost obsessed. Isn't that a little funny? All the old pureblood families in his pocket, and he's worrying about a single Mudblood."

There was an angry outburst at the word, which was partly why he had used it in the first place. But there had been no malice behind it, and Hermione hadn't reacted at all.

"Why is that?" he asked rhetorically, glancing at the Order. "What could he possibly want with her?"

There was an almost palpable unease in the room. Hermione looked around curiously. She felt as if everyone else knew something she didn't, and if there was anything she hated, it was ignorance, especially if it was on her side.

"What are you driving at, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, an edge of warning in his voice.

Draco and Harry stared hard at one another for a long moment before Draco relaxed. He continued, addressing Hermione. "Voldemort doesn't think you're with the Order anymore, Granger, because surely they would have used you to their advantage before now." There was another rustle of unease. "In fact, he believes you would make a nice little addition to _his_ collection, and he's tasked me with acquiring you."

"'Acquiring' her?!" Ginny repeated. "Like she's just a piece of—"

"What I'm proposing will take weeks, months maybe. It's got to be set up carefully." Draco had resumed his pacing. "You can't just turn up at and proclaim you've decided to switch sides. But if you were caught, if you were captured by me and brought to Voldemort, I think we could convince him that you've broken with Order, that you blame them for your parents' deaths, that you..." he looked around the room again "... _resent_ them for never appreciating your power.

"Conveniently, the French Ministry of Magic has just issued a decree ordering all English refugees out of their borders by next week. We can make it seem like you've been living there, isolated, for the last three years and have been forced out of hiding by the decree. Even if he never fully trusts you, he has ways to convince himself of your loyalty." He unconsciously ran his fingers over his forearm, where the Dark Mark was burned onto his skin. "I'm the last unmarried wizard in his ranks, and marriage to a Death Eater will ensure your loyalty like nothing else. He's promised me your hand if I deliver him to you."

"How is giving Voldemort exactly what he wants going to help us?" Lupin asked calmly.

"You think we're all idiots," Ron interjected, jumping to his feet and rounding on Draco. "We all know the high pureblood protocol of no premarital relations. Seems to me a marriage would solve any ... _frustrations_ you're experiencing."

"I will not insist on the consummation of the marriage," Draco said coolly, almost boredly. Almost.

Harry's eyes widened a fraction of a millimeter, but he shook his head. "I still don't see the point, Malfoy."

"This conversation is completely pointless!" Ron said, waving his arms. "There is no way we would _ever_ allow—"

"The point is ... Voldemort's starting to suspect his followers, myself included. The Order has thwarted a few of his plans, thanks to yours truly, and he's uneasy. He suspects, rightfully, a traitor in his midst." Draco paused, frowning. "The point is ... if I don't deliver Granger to him, my life is forfeit."

A stunned silence greeted his words. He glanced at Hermione and saw an odd, appraising expression on her face as she looked back at him.

"Now, I know you lot don't care what happens to me," he said matter-of-factly, "but I am your only way of knowing what Voldemort is going to do next. You only thwarted his plans because I knew about them beforehand." He turned to Hermione. "I am asking you, Granger, to put your life on the line for me, as I have done for the Order dozens of times in the last five years. It's all up to you: Help me, or stay here and wait for the Order to fall."

She had turned to check the stew, but Draco could still see her face. The fire caught the faintest glimmer of hope in her eyes and enhanced it. Then, he knew she had made her choice, and anything the others would say would not change her decision.

"That's not the only choice," Harry said abruptly. "The Order's not completely powerless. We can get you out of the country, Malfoy, if Voldemort's given you this ultimatum. We can get you to safety—"

"I'll do it," Hermione said, stopping Harry short though she spoke quietly. Her eyes were shining strangely. "I'll do it, Malfoy."

The din slowly rose as the Order began voicing their objections, but Draco and Hermione barely paid them any mind. He considered her for a long moment, trying to see if she was in earnest, if she was up to the task. She endured his gaze unflinchingly.

He nodded once as they shook on it. He held her hand for longer than necessary, then suddenly gave her his best, most formal pureblood bow.

"Thank you, Granger. I'll owe you my life," he said solemnly.

"I'll owe you mine," she said softly.

Draco nodded once, understanding even if the others did not.


	3. Duffer

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 3: Duffer**

_Duffer: A weak chess player_

Friday, June 13, 2003

* * *

They moved quickly after that. Hermione abandoned her stew and went upstairs to pack, leaving Draco to listen to the Order try to come up with a way to keep her in Grimmauld Place. Draco could have told them they were just wasting their time. Nothing short of physically locking her up would achieve that, now that her mind was made up.

"Why don't I just challenge Voldemort face to face now?" Harry said calmly. "We're done waiting, so let's end this the only way it was always going end: him and me. 'Neither can live while the other survives.'"

"He won't die. We haven't destroyed all the Horcruxes," Ginny reminded him, exasperated. "We've gotten Tom Riddle's diary, Gaunt's ring, and Slytherin's locket. That still leaves Hufflepuff's cup and something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's."

_And the snake_, everyone else added mentally. Moody wasn't the only one who had reservations about Draco Malfoy, so they'd reduced the number of Horcruxes from six to five, just in case he really was a triple agent so Voldemort wouldn't know how much they knew.

"Why don't we just tell her the truth? Then she'll know what a terrible idea this is," Tonks said, shooting Draco a furious look. "I don't know why we didn't in the first place, years ago!"

"We thought it was the best course of action at the time," Lupin reminded her. "She was devastated after her parents' deaths. There had been no telling what she would have done with that knowledge. But perhaps it is time she knew."

"I don't know," Harry said doubtfully. "It doesn't make it any easier, knowing. Sometimes I wish I didn't."

Ginny turned swiftly on her heel and strode out the door.

"Where are you going?" Ron demanded.

"To talk some sense into her!"

Hermione was just closing her wardrobe when Ginny walked in. The small, beaded handbag she had used when she, Ron, and Harry had gone looking for the Horcruxes sat on her bed, undoubtedly already holding the few possessions she had.

"I trust you'll keep an eye on everyone, Ginny," Hermione said briskly.

"Oh, honestly, Hermione," Ginny said exasperatedly, crossing her arms. "You're not really going through with this, are you?"

"Of course I am," Hermione said, though there was a hint of coolness in her tone. "I never thought I'd say this, but we can't afford to lose Malfoy. He's right. He's the only reason we've been able to have any success against Voldemort these last five years. If we lose that, we'll lose this war. And what will all of it have been for then? Our parents' deaths? All the destruction?"

"What will it all have been for if you die?" Ginny retorted. "We're still two Horcruxes away from defeating Voldemort, and who knows when we'll find those? Three, including the snake!"

Hermione's face softened slightly, if tiredly, as she took pity at Ginny's frustration. "Ginny, all Harry needs is for us to believe in him. He'll find the Horcruxes, and if I can buy us a little more time for him to do so, then it will be completely worth it."

Ginny gaped at Hermione. "My God, you still believe in him," she said softly, shaking her head. "I would never, _ever _abandon Harry. I'll be with him through to the very end, no matter where or what that is. But every day, it seems less and less likely that we're going to win."

"That's the problem, Ginny. If no one believes in him, how can he believe in himself? If no one believes we can win this war, how can we win it?"

Hermione picked up her bag and walked toward the doorway without a backward glance at the room she had occupied for the last five years.

"This isn't just some sort of ruse to get us to appreciate you more?" Ginny asked. "You've taken care of us as well as Mum would have. Honestly, we know how much you do for us—"

"Ginny, I may be desperate, but my desperation does not lie in that direction."

"Come on, we all know you said you'd do it just to shut Malfoy up!"

"I did nothing of the sort," Hermione said, with just a touch of sharpness in her voice. "Ron may choose to keep silly childhood rivalries alive, but I think we've gone well beyond that now."

The Order looked up expectantly when Hermione re-entered the kitchen, hoping she had come to her senses. And she had, in a way, just not in the way they expected.

She had fooled herself into thinking she was more useful here in Grimmauld instead of fighting out there, but she had just been using it as an excuse to hide. She had failed that day at King's Cross Station. All her cleverness and magical ability hadn't been enough to save her parents, to save anyone. Brightest witch of her age, indeed! She had doubted herself ever since, and so had the Order. They didn't trust her anymore, they hadn't since that day. But now she would live up to her responsibilities of one of the last remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix or die trying.

"You're not really doing this, are you?" Ron asked, catching sight of her bag. "Wait just a minute—!"

"No, Ron, I'm done waiting," she said firmly. "I'm part of the Order, but I haven't acted like it for years. I've let all of you endanger you lives again and again while I've stayed here in safety. It's my turn to do something now."

"It doesn't have to be this," Harry said. "If you want to return to active duty, then fine. We'll put you on patrol, not turn you over to Voldemort!"

"I think we are moving a little too hastily for our own good here," Kingsley said. "Even if we're going to entertain the possibility of Draco's plan, we haven't had time to analyze it. There could be something we're missing, something glaringly obvious we're going to regret later."

"Like me?" Draco suggested. "When I'm missing, you're going to regret it."

There was something almost like humor in Hermione's eyes when she glanced at him. Almost.

"It's not like we're playing game here," Ron snapped. "People _die_, Hermione! They're buried across the square, right outside, and you're doing your best to become one of them!

"I know people die, Ron," she said, a stricken look on her face. "I've lost my family, too, but if I stay here any longer, I'll lose myself."

"Hermione, there are certain things at work here you don't fully understand," Lupin said, changing tact. He looked even greyer, all of a sudden.

Draco laughed derisively. "Things Granger doesn't fully understand?" he repeated. "Isn't she the brightest witch of her age? Isn't that what you used to say, Lupin? All of you seem to have forgotten it! Let's go, Granger." He held out his arm for her to take so he could Side-Apparate her to France.

She didn't take it. "What things?" she asked Lupin curiously. "What don't I fully understand?"

He looked to the others for support, and suddenly, Hermione didn't want to know.

"Never mind, let's go," she said, reaching for Draco's arm.

Ron suddenly lunged at Draco, pinning him against the stone fireplace and knocking his head roughly against the mantelpiece.

"If you take her out of her and anything happens to her, Malfoy, you're dead," he swore, a dangerous glint of threat in his eyes. "I swear, if so much as a _hair_ on her head is touched_—_"

Draco removed Ron's hands from him firmly but without force. "I can't promise anything about a hair, but I give you my word: I will not allow anyone or anything to harm her."

Everyone had gone utterly still. Both men exchanged glares for a moment before Ron shoved Draco away from him and turned to Hermione. She suddenly wished she were far away, that Draco would Disapparate them this very second so she wouldn't have to deal with this.

"Don't do it," Ron said, enclosing her hand with his much larger one. "Don't leave. Don't leave _me_," he elaborated.

For some reason, she was very aware of Draco waiting for her answer, even though the rest of the Order was shamelessly listening in, too.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said. She truly looked it as she pulled her hand from his grasp. "But we can't always have what we want ... or what others want of us." He had gone pale in the firelight, his hands fell limply to his sides. She spared him one more apologetic glance before she placed her hand on Draco's arm.

And they were gone.


	4. Develop

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 4: Develop**

_Develop: In the opening, moving a piece from its original square to make it more active._

Friday, June 13, 2003-Monday, June 16, 2003

* * *

It had been the first time in three years Hermione had Apparated, and it had been even longer since she had Side-Apparated. To say she was disoriented when they materialized would have been an understatement. She grabbed onto the nearest thing to steady herself, and that thing happened to be Draco Malfoy.

"You're not going to be sick, are you?"

Hermione fought down a rising wave of nausea rising and gave Draco a cool glance as she released him.

"Where are we?" she asked, voice steadier than she felt.

They were in the middle of a field of lavender. Her stomach clenched, but it had nothing to do with Apparition. Lavender fields were characteristic of the French countryside. She recognized it from the holiday she and her parents had taken before her third year at Hogwarts.

"Somewhere in the middle of France," Draco said carelessly. He surveyed the area around them, then took a step forward experimentally.

"Who goes there?" demanded an authoritative voice from behind them.

Hermione froze and held her hands out to show she was unarmed, though in truth her wand was up her sleeve. Draco appeared completely unperturbed.

"Just me, Weasley."

Hermione whirled around. A wizard with long red hair gathered into a ponytail and scars across his face glared at her. "Bill!" she exclaimed faintly.

Bill Weasley's eyes widened as he recognized her and lowered his wand. "Hermione! Malfoy! What are you doing here?" His surprised expression turned to one of concern. "Is everything all right? Is the Order—?"

"—still holed up in London?" Draco finished. "Yes, as usual." He glanced around them casually, but Hermione could tell he was alert for any sign of trouble. "Do you mind if we come in?" he asked with mock politeness.

"Yes, of course. Welcome to the Chateau."

A quaint little cottage suddenly appeared in a small clearing in a cluster of woods nearby. Bill led the way through the field, wading through the vibrant-colored crop that was nearly waist-high for Hermione. She glanced at Draco questioningly, wondering why he had brought her here, but he merely gestured her to follow Bill, while he brought up the rear. Hermione could feel them pass through the various other wards and charms that protected the Chateau before they reached the front door, which was promptly thrown open.

"'Ermione!"

The lovely Fleur Delacour stood framed in the doorway, two little girls, aged 3 and 4, peering curiously from behind their mother. Bill and Fleur's daughters had long, white-blonde hair and creamy complexions that had resisted the Weasley red and freckles. They smiled shyly up at Hermione, and it took her a moment to realize she was smiling back.

"Come in, come in!" Fleur ushered them into a small but cozy home and quickly shut the door behind Draco. "What 'as 'appened?" she demanded. "Ees the Order—?"

"No, it's not that," Bill quickly assured her. "Girls, why don't you go upstairs and play?"

The little girls slowly went up the stairs, peering curiously at the newcomers through the banister all the way up. Once he was sure his daughters were out of earshot, Bill rounded on Draco.

"Why are you here?"

Unconcerned at the stern look the older wizard was giving him, Draco took a seat in the nearest armchair without being asked, taking the time to prop one leg up on his knee and smooth his robes.

"I've rescued Granger from the Order," he finally announced.

"_Rescued_ her from the Order?" Bill repeated incredulously. "What in the world are you talking about?"

"I've just agreed to let Malfoy turn me over to Voldemort," Hermione said.

"_What?!_"

Draco gave her the briefest of glances. He looked almost amused at her abrupt explanation. Almost.

"Voldemort's given me a choice: Find Hermione Granger and bring her to him, or die. I think I prefer the former, and Granger here has kindly agreed to go along with it."

"To go along with what, exactly?" Bill demanded. "To be tortured? Killed? Hermione, this doesn't make any sense at all."

"To marry me," Draco said calmly. "To join his ranks. To be branded with the Dark Mark and initiated as a Death Eater." Hermione gasped, startled. "Oh, sorry, didn't I mention that earlier? Must have slipped my mind. Did you think he just wanted you as a mascot?"

Hermione's surprise hadn't escaped Bill. "You're clearly not telling us everything, Malfoy. What are you playing at?"

"_You're_ the ones who haven't been telling _her _everything."

Bill glanced at Hermione, and she saw again that uneasiness she had seen in the rest of the Order.

"What is it?" she finally demanded. "What is it I don't know?"

"I'm not sure if I'm the one who should—"

"You're the one who saw it, Weasley," Draco interjected. "That's why I brought her here, so that she could see it for herself: the big secret everyone's been keeping from her for the last three years."

Hermione looked at Bill inquiringly, desperately.

"Bill," Fleur prompted softly.

The eldest Weasley sighed heavily. "We thought it was for the best, Hermione," he explained. "It was right after King's Cross. You were hurt. You weren't doing well. We didn't want to worry you any further—"

"Stop making excuses and do what you should have done years ago, which is let Granger decide for herself."

Fleur was taking something from a cabinet. It was a shallow, silver basin with Runes written along the edge. A Pensieve, Hermione realized.

She set it on the table. Bill placed his wand at his temple and drew out a memory. Resignedly, he gestured Hermione closer. And then suddenly, she didn't want to know. She made to turn, to leave the room, the house, the country, but Draco was behind her. He took a hold of her arm, as if he knew exactly what was running through her mind, and made her face the Pensieve.

"Like I said, this was right after King's Cross, three years ago," Bill said, letting the silver wisp of a memory fall into the basin. He stirred the silver liquid with his wand. "I was at the Thestral's Wake in Calais, trying to recruit people for the Order, when this happened."

He gestured her closer, and she and Draco fell into the memory together.

* * *

They were standing in a shadowy wizarding pub. Hermione had been there once before, when she had been in France with her parents. Then, it had resembled the Three Broomsticks and the Leaky Cauldron, but now it was dark and dingy. Everyone spoke in low whispers, their words guarded against eavesdroppers. But they were all talking about the same thing: the attack on King's Cross Station.

Bill sat alone at a table, his prominent features obscured by the hood of his cloak and a Glamour Charm. His eyes darted to the door every time it opened, and hidden up his sleeve, his wand was clenched tightly in his hand.

A tankard fell, the sound echoing loudly in the cavernous room as it hit the stone floor, and everyone started. A woman emerged from the shadows, shawls hanging from her outstretched arms, bangles jangling from her wrists. Her thick glasses reflected the candle- and firelight dully, but Hermione could still see her eyes rolling back in her head, her countenance wild.

"Professor Trelawney!" she exclaimed faintly, staring at the former Hogwarts teacher.

Draco was staring at her.

A moment later, Trelawney's mouth started moving, but the voice that came out was nothing like the misty one Hermione remembered from Divination class. It was disembodied, deep, menacing.

_"Seek not the one who fell today... She will return when it is her time... __Power and intelligence not seen in a thousand years... _Born not of our world, she will help decide its fate ... and break down the barrier between good and evil... _In whatever she does, her destiny will be both great and terrible..._"

Everyone was still and silent as the prophecy faded from hearing. No one made a move to help the sometime Seer as she collapsed on the ground.

"It has to be Hermione Granger!" someone burst out. "She was hurt today, she's a Muggle-born—it all fits!"

Bill jumped to his feet as a cloaked figure edged toward the door. He vaulted over the table as the figure threw open the door and ran out, Bill hot on heels. It was one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, hurrying to tell the Dark Lord.

"Come on, Granger," said Draco, who had not taken his eyes off her the entire time. "Let's go."

* * *

Hermione found herself back in The Chateau. The Thestral's Wake faded in the slowly swirling liquid of the Pensieve.

"Hermione," Bill began, reaching out toward her.

She flinched away from his touch. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked. "Why didn't anyone?"

Her voice was much louder than she intended. She was angry, she realized, angry for the first time in years.

"To protect you," Bill explained patiently. "You weren't thinking right, after your parents' deaths. We were afraid you'd do something reckless, confront Voldemort yourself. And Harry thought knowing the prophecy would force it to come true. Self-fulfilling, like with Voldemort and him."

Draco rounded on Bill. Hermione could see he was angry, too, though she didn't understand why.

"Tell her the whole truth, Weasley!" Draco said. "That was true in the beginning, but things changed, didn't they? There was a reason the Order made sure she stayed in Grimmauld Place for years after that. They made sure she doubted her power, that she was too scared to leave that house so she would never have a chance to hear about the prophecy from someone else!"

"No, that isn't true," Hermione said, but already her mind was racing. After she'd recovered from her physical injuries, they _had_ discouraged her from training again. They had planted little seeds of doubt about her abilities until she believed them. When she'd elected to take Molly's place, no one had objected.

"You see it now, don't you?" Draco asked, seeing the change come over her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "_They thought you would choose the wrong side_."

Her eyes shot to Bill, desperate to see the denial there. He just looked guilty.

"No..." she breathed.

"That's not the whole truth, Hermione," Bill said helplessly. "By that time, news of the prophecy had spread all over the wizarding world. People were convinced—are _still_ convinced—you're the cleverest, most powerful witch to live since Rowena Ravenclaw herself, that you're powerful enough to defeat both Voldemort _and_ Harry. So you understand our concerns—"

"No, I don't!" Hermione cried. "Does the Order honestly believe I would use that power _against_ Harry? That I wouldn't use it to _help_ him?"

"What if it's not up to you?" Bill challenged. "Harry didn't have a say when Voldemort chose him!" He rounded on Draco. "And this plan of yours, giving her to Voldemort, this could be what makes the prophecy true. Are you willing to risk that?"

The two wizards, who were of a height with one another, stared each other down.

"I don't believe in prophecies," Draco said, speaking with ice-cold calm. "I believe we make our own destiny. But if Voldemort believes having her will guarantee his victory because some stupid prophecy said so, then I will give her to him and—unlike you, unlike the rest of the Order—trust that she will choose the right side and help defeat him."

Without waiting for Bill to respond, Draco turned to Hermione. "You still have a choice, Granger. That's why I brought you here. You know the whole truth now. In three days, I will return and either bring you back to Grimmauld Place or bring you to Voldemort, whatever you decide. It's entirely up to you."

And then he was gone.

* * *

So Hermione spent three days at the Chateau, trying to sort out her feelings over the Order's ... betrayal? Deception? Faithlessness? Bill had told them what had happened, of course, and they kept trying to contact her, risking everyone's safety until Fleur put her foot down. Hermione never felt so in accord with the half-veela as when Fleur gave her a sly wink after she disconnected their fireplace from the two-way Floo with Grimmauld.

By the third day, she had made up her mind. She would forgive the Order, had forgiven them already, really. That they believed they had been protecting her, she could accept. But she would never forget that they doubted her, and she would prove to them, to the entire wizarding world, that she made her own destiny.

She was standing on the edge of the field of lavender when Draco appeared. When he Apparated, he barely made any sound at all, but for some reason, she knew exactly when he had arrived.

"Have a penchant for dramatic entrances, do we, Malfoy?" she asked, not turning around.

"It touches me, Granger, that you know me so well."

They stood there in silence for several moments, watching the sun set, its last rays lighting up the sky so vibrantly it hardly looked real, bright orange sky and deep purple land.

"Well?" he finally said. "Do I lose my life, or do you get yours back?"

She didn't answer but merely placed her hand on the arm she knew was waiting for her. Bill and Fleur, watching from the window, saw their two silhouettes merge into one as they Disapparated.


	5. Opening

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 5: Opening**

_Opening: The beginning moves of the game._

Tuesday, June 17, 2003

* * *

Draco strolled around a vast, high-ceilinged chamber, the sound of his footsteps on the highly polished wood floor reverberating off the empty walls. He wasn't sure who had lived there before, if they had been Muggle or wizarding, but it hardly mattered. All evidence of its previous owners had been eradicated, likely along with the owners themselves.

A cold, high-pitched laugh echoed down the hall, enough to send chills running down the spines or cause a cold sweat to break out among the various servants scuttling around the house.

But none of these things happened to Draco Malfoy. He had faced Voldemort far too many times to be disconcerted by that unearthly laugh. And the fact that he was two seconds away from feeding the Dark Lord the biggest lie in the history of the wizarding world did not seem to bother him in the least.

"Ah, Draco." The soft voice, caressing on the surface, iron-hard underneath, announced the arrival of Lord Voldemort. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?"

Draco bowed as Voldemort glided past him. He made an odd figure, an other-worldly character standing in the middle of an 18th-century ballroom, complete with gilded décor, chandeliers, and floor-to-ceiling windows.

Voldemort stopped in front of a large fireplace. Right above it hung an old mirror, the frame thick and ostentatious gold. It was placed too high up on the wall for Draco to look into it, but even as he watched Voldemort levitated himself so that he could gaze into the glass himself.

Quite familiar with his master's ways, Draco remained where he stood.

"I have Hermione Granger, my lord."

Voldemort had gone utterly still. Draco felt some satisfaction at taking the Dark Lord by surprise.

"Where?"

There was no more pretense of softness in his voice anymore.

"I've brought her to Black Castle, my lord, in Dartmoor."

"And no one else knows she's there?"

"No, sir."

"And she is safe?"

It was a question Draco hadn't been expecting. "Safe, sir?" he repeated.

"From the Order. From anyone else who would harm her."

"She is safe."

Voldemort whirled around, suddenly business-like. "Where did you find her?"

"It appears she has been hiding in France for the last three years. She was forced out by their last decree, but she was traveling in disguise. No one recognized her."

"Fools! Not to recognize her when she was in their grasp!" Draco didn't know if Voldemort was still talking about the French government or the Order. "What has she been doing all this time?

"No, no, no." Voldemort answered himself. "She'll have been seeking answers, learning, experimenting with her power." Draco nearly rolled his eyes. If only Voldemort knew the truth. Voldemort looked sharply at Draco. "She doesn't want to rejoin the Order?"

"She came with me readily enough." It wasn't a lie.

"She wanted to be caught," Voldemort realized. Draco's back stiffened. "A silly decree wouldn't have forced her out of hiding. No, she wanted me to find her."

"You think she's going to switch sides of her own accord?"

"I think she already has." Voldemort was doing his version of pacing, drifting to and fro. "Harry Potter didn't appreciate her. He never understood her worth. But I ... I would unleash her potential, tap into that power she doesn't even know she has, make her into something more."

Voldemort stopped suddenly, in front of a window. He stared out as if he could see something there Draco couldn't. "What a blow that would be to the Order, with her at my side. They would crumble in days, demoralized and broken. This is, after all, more a psychological war than a physical one."

Voldemort turned to look at him. "Draco." The faux caress was in his tone once more. "You have grown into a promising young man. Ever since you were a boy, I knew that one day you would make me proud. Has that day come?"

"My lord?"

"Protect her. Make sure no harm comes to her. Make sure no one finds her. If you do this for me, you shall have the most powerful witch in wizarding history as your wife." He paused, his lips curving upward in a humorless smile. "Fail in this, and I will have no more use for you."

"Yes, my lord." Draco bowed deeply. "Would you like to see—"

"No!" The vehemence in Voldemort's voice startled even Draco. "I will see her when it is time." A sudden thought seemed to occur to him. "The Solstice Celebration. Bring her to me at the Solstice, when everyone is here. Then the world will know she has returned ... to me."

* * *

Draco Apparated into the bleak, 13th-century castle he had inherited from his mother's side of the family. It was the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and it looked it, too. It was packed full of wizarding memorabilia from the last eight centuries, though he had ordered his house-elves to move all paintings to the dungeons in preparation for Hermione's arrival. His ancestors could be bloody meddling sometimes.

A house-elf appeared out of nowhere to take his robes. He carelessly threw it at the creature on his way up to the north tower.

Hermione was seated by the window of the room he had given her, staring out at the sprawling moor that surrounded the castle. There was nothing but moor for as far as the eye could see. The shadows of clouds chased one another endlessly across the depressing landscape. She felt like a princess locked in a castle, only this fairytale didn't have a Prince Charming coming to rescue her or a happy ending.

"Honey, I'm home." Draco's voice spoke sarcastically from the doorway.

"It seems you're still alive," she observed, as he walked in.

"Try not to sound too disappointed, Granger." He threw himself into the armchair by the fireplace. "You will be my wife in the very near future."

"So Voldemort truly wants me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Try not to sound so eager either, Granger, or the Order really will start questioning your loyalty."

Hermione quickly turned to look out the window again, though Draco suspected it was so he couldn't see her face. "So, what now? Are you going to take me to your leader?" He almost could hear a bit of humor in her voice. Almost.

"No, he definitely did _not_ want to see you right now, Granger. He looked almost, well..." Draco searched for the right word, "... _frightened_ at the prospect, which you can take as either terribly insulting or very flattering. Lord Voldemort, frightened of Mudblood Granger."

There was no true malice behind his use of the derogatory term, so Hermione ignored it. "Frightened," she repeated disbelievingly. "Don't let your imagination run away from you, Malfoy."

Draco shrugged. "As long as you don't run away, Granger. He wants me to bring you to the Solstice Celebration. That's four days from now, which isn't nearly enough time to prepare." He stood and gestured for her to stand as well. She did so guardedly, so with some impatience, he took her by the arm, drew her to the middle of the room, and began circling her. "You will arrive later than everyone else. Your entrance must be impressive. Voldemort must be impressed, all the Death Eaters, too."

"I'm sure I can manage," Hermione said stiffly.

Draco did not look convinced. "Granger, I am not fooling around here. You're practically a legend, you know. People will have their expectations." He frowned, thinking fast. "I'll kidnap my tailor," he decided. "He'll be able to come up with something that will turn heads."

Hermione made to object but decided it wasn't worth the energy. Draco suddenly was bored.

"Well, I'm off to the Order to share the good news," he said. "Coming?"

Hermione had started to nod but stopped, as if realizing something. "No, I don't think so," she said, frowning confusedly.

Draco was suddenly _not_ bored. "Really?" He smirked. "You're not still queasy Side-Apparating are you? You can Apparate yourself if you're sure you won't splinch."

"No, it's not that."

"I won't let them take you back, if that's what you're scared of." He was teasing, but there was truth behind his words.

"No, I just ... don't want to see them," she realized.

"Okay, Granger, now _I'm _doubting your loyalty."

He was still teasing, but anger flashed in her eyes. "Don't you ever doubt that!" she said, her sudden fury startling. "But if I need to become this _legend_ that everyone seems to think I am, if you want me to turn heads and impress the Dark Lord himself, then going back to Grimmauld Place isn't going to help me do that!"

He was looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. He bowed suddenly, as he had done for Voldemort, as he had done the night she'd agreed to all this.

"You're halfway there, Granger," he assured her, before he Disapparated silently.

* * *

"So I will take her to the Solstice Celebration, and we'll go from there," Draco summed up for the Order.

"Why didn't you bring her with you?" Ron asked.

"She..." Draco was going to make up an excuse, just in case the Order did get it into their thick heads to start doubting her loyalty, but Weasley's question rubbed him the wrong way. "You mean, why didn't I _ask_ if she _wanted_ to come with me?" he clarified.

"What does it matter? Why isn't she here with you?" Ginny interjected.

"You still don't get it, do you?" Draco realized. "None of you do. You think I'm the one making decisions for her now, like you did for her all those years? No, Granger is completely free to do what she wants. She can leave the castle, she can come back here, she can still walk away from this plan. She just doesn't choose to do any of those things."

"You're turning her against us, that's all there is to it!" Ron accused.

"Even if he were trying to do that, Hermione would never turn against us," Tonks said. "If she wants to see us, nothing will stop her, especially not him," she added with a glare.

"You know, I asked her if she wanted to come," Draco said, frowning at a stray thread at the hem of his sleeve. "She said, and I quote, that she doesn't want to see you."

"She wouldn't say that," Lupin said firmly.

Draco shrugged. "All right, if that's what you believe. You've been lying to yourselves about her for this long. Why stop now?"

"You've tricked her in some way," Ron said, eyes narrowed menacingly. "You've forced her to do this through magic or-or blackmail or—"

"Or nothing," Draco cut him off derisively. "I, trick Hermione Granger? Only you could think her weak enough to succumb to that. Voldemort himself respects her more than you."

"You're insane," Ron said, shaking with anger.

"Only as insane as the people who let Hermione Granger wash their dishes, cook their meals, and clean their clothes as if she were no more than a common house-elf ... or even a common witch. Tell me, why did you _really_ never tell her about her prophecy? Was it truly to protect her? Was it really because you thought she might choose the wrong side?"

He paused, surveying the room. His voice dropped even softer. "Or was it because you never believed in it at all? 'How could poor little Granger be the girl in the prophecy? She couldn't even save her parents or any of those kids at King's Cross, how could she save the wizarding world? Oh, she's clever in a book-smart sort of way, but powerful? Surely not.'"

The room's silence was answer enough.


	6. Queen

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 6: Queen**

_Queen: The most powerful chess piece that each player has_

Thursday, June 19, 2003-Saturday, June 21, 2003

* * *

Time ticked down to the Solstice Celebration. True to his word, Draco kidnapped his tailor and put him and his seamstress wife under house arrest in Black Castle as they worked on Hermione's dress. Since he didn't do them any physical harm, and even gave them rooms in the south tower instead of locking them in the dungeons, Hermione did not raise any objections. Draco neglected to tell her that the only reason they weren't locked in the dungeons—which weren't all that bad, as dungeons went—was because the house-elves had stored all the old family portraits there.

"What do you know about the Solstice Celebration?" Draco asked over supper a couple days later. In the cavernous dining room, he and Hermione sat alone at the long dining table that could seat 50, he at the head of the table, Hermione directly to his left.

"It dates back to the Middle Ages," Hermione said, "when witches and wizards thought solstices and eclipses and other celestial phenomena affected magical power. They would perform complicated spells and brew potions during the solstice, believing that the magic would be stronger."

He had expected the textbook answer. "Yes, but hardly anyone believes that now. Voldemort's turned it into a celebration of when he took power. The wizarding world is not what it was five, seven years ago. In many ways, it has regressed. Voldemort has reinstated the old pureblood ways of centuries ago. There is more to this society than I can describe to you now: rules, etiquette, innuendos, ways to nod and shake the head, different greetings for people of different status, what one can wear according to one's position.

"Society under Voldemort has become an intricate web of alliances. Almost everyone has the same goal—to climb up the social ladder, get closer to Voldemort and earn his favor ... because the alternative is his disfavor. In close, almost constant contact with him are his Death Eaters. Next is anyone related to the Death Eaters. Below them, in varying degrees of nonexistence, are those who are neither, the underlings. They use every association, every acquaintance, to try to improve their status. Most of the witches and wizards remaining in the country belong to the last group. Voldemort has not initiated a Death Eater in nearly seven years, myself being the last one.

"The Solstice Celebration starts off solemnly enough, but it slowly becomes a drunken night of debauchery—unrestrained, immoral, depraved. Voldemort uses it—and all other functions, really—to observe people, to see who is talking to whom, what connections are being made. He's like ... a playwright. He's written the play and now is watching us all perform it for him."

"What in the world does he get out of it?" Hermione wondered.

"It's ... a display of his absolute power, I suppose," Draco answered. He'd never really thought about it before. "All these purebloods doing his bidding? Scared shitless of doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong word, in his presence? Of their own will? They do it out of fear, yes, but they're not under the Imperius or anything. That's true power, Granger."

"And where do you fit in, Malfoy?"

He toyed with the stem of his wine glass. "Me, Granger? I find myself in his innermost circle, perhaps the closest of them all. That makes me the most revered and praised of Voldemort's followers in public, but the most hated in private. And in a couple days, when I bring him the one thing he has wanted all these years, short of Potter's head on a platter, then ... then I suppose I will undoubtedly be his most valuable follower and most loyal servant." He frowned. "My father would have been proud."

Hermione watched Draco as he stared broodily into his wine. The uncertain candlelight made shadows play across his face, lending some warmth to his cold, grey eyes, highlighting his sharp cheekbones.

"And your mother?" she asked quietly.

"My mother?" He looked startled. "I have been trying to do my mother proud since I joined the Order." He caught the half-admiring look on her face and smirked, breaking the spell. "But she would have thought marrying a Mudblood would be taking it one step too far."

* * *

"So she will come, Draco?" Voldemort asked, as they strolled around the ballroom, which was being decorated for the Gala. The underlings doing the decorating stopped and bowed to the Dark Lord and his faithful Death Eater as they passed.

"Yes, my lord." Draco lowered his head the merest fraction of an inch as one of the underlings nearly tripped over himself to execute a servile bow.

"What festivities can we look forward to entertain her with this evening?"

"There will be the customary duels among the underlings," Draco said. "The winner will become Aunt Bella's assistant. She's been in need of one since her last one mysteriously disappeared." He smirked. "Merlin help the poor soul. He might end up just like the one before last: cleaning the gutters of Knockturn Alley, with no hope of ever rising."

"Oh, Bella will have her fun," Voldemort said indulgently. They had stopped roving the hall and now stood in a secluded corner. "But she has grown too temperamental, too jealous and suspicious of late. She has immersed herself too deeply into these connections, too concerned with trying to win favors and cultivate her own set of followers. The ruthless mind that I valued in her once has become obscured by these things."

Draco remained silent, unsure of what Voldemort was driving at.

"However, she has served me faithfully these many years, and I will not turn her out. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. But it is my hope that Miss Granger will take her place, regardless of the type of blood she carries. Draco, I do not pretend to be ignorant as to what scenes will arise once Miss Granger enters this room. If she were just a common witch, she should not even come in contact with us."

"But she is not a common witch, sir."

"The others will not understand that."

"Whatever you say, my lord, will be done without question," Draco assured him. "If you were to make Hermione Granger the queen of the wizarding world, not one person would say a word against you. All would be forgotten—her blood, her parents, even her connection to Harry Potter. Everyone here tonight would drop their royal, pureblood asses to the floor to grovel at her feet if you asked them to."

"Language, Draco," Voldemort admonished lightly.

Draco was unfazed. He could already see the idea was exciting Voldemort's lust for power.

"Purebloods bowing to a Mudblood," Voldemort mused. "An extraordinary idea. My dear boy, you are right."

* * *

"Granger, are you ready?" Draco demanded as he swept up the north tower. He burst into her room, a striking figure in robes of immaculate, flawless black silk.

Hermione was standing in the middle of the room in a gown of decadent green. The tailor and his wife, who were making sure every tuck and ruffle was perfectly in place, jumped to attention at his entrance. Draco paid them no mind, surveying their work critically instead. The dress was very finely made, the bodice and sleeves fitted her like a glove while the skirt flared out, layers upon layers of gauzy material that seemed to change color as they shifted in the light. Despite the abundance of material, Hermione seemed to carry it weightlessly. She was passably pretty when she tried, Draco had to admit. Her features were highlighted by her makeup, and her thick hair piled high on her head in gleaming coils.

"No, it's not going to work," he said, striding forward. "You look just like everyone else, which is precisely what you're not."

He unceremoniously shoved the tailor out of his way.

"Malfoy!" Hermione objected. "What—?"

He grabbed hold of her sleeves and pulled, the delicate material easily giving way under his grasp. The remaining material slipped lazily off her shoulders. He magicked away the frills and lace at the top of her bodice, ripped the bow from her waist and the string of pearls from her neck. He knocked down half of her hair, the coils slithering down her back.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Hermione demanded, pushing him away. "You've ruined everything!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. Someone she scarcely knew stared back at her. She looked half-wild in her half-ruined dress, but she was not altogether displeased with how she looked. Her cheeks were red and her eyes bright in anger, in a way her carefully applied makeup had been unable to replicate.

As she looked at herself, Draco grabbed a vase of wildflowers a house-elf had left beside her bed and tucked one flower behind her ear. "You're not like them, pressed and fitted into the roles Voldemort assigned them," he said, hovering over her shoulder. "You're something else entirely. You're the card the Order was too scared to play. You're the feather that will tip the scales. You're a fucking legend. Now, take off your shoes."

"What?" Hermione asked dazedly, still mesmerized by the portrait he had painted of her.

"Take off your shoes," he repeated. "You'll be just like him, free to move as you please, absolutely unfettered."

She did as he asked, slipping off her shoes and losing several inches in height.

"My dress is too long," she said, as the material sagged to the ground.

"I can fix that in a trice," the tailor said, hurrying forward.

Draco was already ripping the skirt in the front, creating a slit so she could walk without tripping over the hem. Hermione saw him almost smirk at her exposed leg. Almost.

"Shall we, Miss Granger?" he asked, offering her his arm.

* * *

In stately procession, the Death Eaters walked through the doors of the ballroom. Their names were loudly proclaimed to the hall at large as they strode in. The rest of the guests pressed against the sides of the room, craning their necks over their fellow underlings to see better.

Draco was the last Death Eater announced, and even he could not deny the thrill that ran through him at the sight of the packed ballroom as he and his fellow Death Eaters settled at the end of the hall, grabbing glasses of champagne from the nearest waiters' trays. He could not have asked for a bigger stage.

Voldemort stepped into the center of the room. Each step was firm and deliberate, each fold of cloth quivered as he moved. A hush fell over all.

"My friends and followers," Voldemort greeted, "I welcome each and every one of you to this night of merriment and solemnity, celebration and remembrance, for we recall on this night our triumph—"

The doors were flung open. A cool breeze, far too cool for the warm June night, danced into the room, extinguishing the hundreds of floating candles that had given light to the hall.

A figure walked in, her footsteps as firm and deliberate as Voldemort's, one bare foot stepping out in front of the other in calm dignity. The hem of her dress swished against the wood floor. Unconsciously, the guests parted for her, forming a path that led straight to Voldemort, a path that she followed without hesitation.

She walked straight up to Voldemort without a sign of humility. There were gasps of horror from the silenced guests, cries of outrage. Bellatrix Lestrange stood out from the rest.

"How dare you present yourself before the Dark Lord as if you were equals! How dare you disrespect—!"

"Stand down, Bella," Voldemort snapped.

"But, my lord!" Bella protested, more hurt by his tone than the breach of protocol. "This filth that stands before you is Hermione Granger, a Mudblood!"

Whispers ran abundant throughout the room. Those who had not recognized her tried to mirror Bella's outrage, but only their shock and not a little admiration shone through.

"Silence," Voldemort proclaimed.

All obeyed. Voldemort stared down at Hermione, standing a full foot taller than her. She stared back into his heartless red eyes. Draco watched the scene unfold before him, as immobile as the others.

"I do not ask why you have come here tonight," Voldemort stated. Though he spoke quietly, every word reached to the corners of the room. "There is only one thing I want to know: What would you do, Hermione Granger, if I asked you to call me 'lord'?"

For a full minute, they stared at one another. Her chin, jutting forward as she looked up at that pale, white face, was the embodiment of defiance. His towering figure was the very personification of power. Draco would have given his entire fortune to have the Order see her now.

Never taking her eyes off him, she sank gracefully to one knee. She reached below her other knee, exposed by the rip in her dress, and withdrew her wand from the holster that fit snugly around her calf.

She raised her wand toward Voldemort, pointing it straight at his heart. Voldemort looked down indifferently at the piece of wood. With a flick of her wrist and a flip of the wand, the handle was pointing towards Voldemort, its tip aimed toward herself.

"_My_ lord." There was a collective gasp of surprise. "I come to you a child of the mud, the lowliest of the low."

Despite her words, her head did not bow. She simply kept looking up into the eyes that had seen into many men's souls. The silence seemed to stretch on for miles and span millennia. No one moved, no one breathed. Even Draco was holding his breath. He wouldn't have been surprised if the entire world itself had stopped turning to listen.

Voldemort's long, white fingers wrapped themselves around her wand. In his hands, the slender wood looked fragile, his thumb pressing down to snap it in half. The glass in Draco's own hand cracked under the force of his grip, but he paid no mind as the golden liquid mingled with crimson blood and dripped to the floor.

Then Voldemort's towering figure stooped as he raised Hermione to her feet. He turned her wand in his fingers so that the handle faced her once more. She took it from.

He traced a circle in the air with his hand. A silver crown appeared out of nowhere, made of intricately-wrought silver. It hovered over her head for a moment like a halo before it settled down on top of her head, crushing the flower Draco had placed behind her ear.

"My dear," he said, "I will make you a queen."


	7. Material

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 7: Material**

_Material: All of a player's pieces and pawns on the board._

Sunday, June 22, 2003-Friday, June 27, 2003

* * *

Draco and Voldemort stood on the terrace that led out from the ballroom as the sun rose, turning the sky a pale pink that was gaining vibrancy with each passing second. The Solstice Celebration had dwindled down less than an hour ago. Most of the guests were passed out in various rooms throughout the mansion, some had gone home with different people than they had come with. Draco had sent Hermione back to Black Castle hours ago.

"Harry Potter is a bigger fool than I ever gave him credit for," Voldemort said. "Imagine not seeing power when it is within your reach."

"Potter never was the great opportunist," Draco drawled. "The only thing he could see past his own nose was the Snitch."

"Ah, but we have caught the Golden Snitch already." Voldemort's long, bony fingers clutched the balustrade suddenly. "How she knelt before me, called me her lord! Do you think she ever offered herself up to Harry Potter in that manner? And I don't forget who it was who brought her to me. I always reward those who deserve it. She is a striking girl, is she not?" he asked suddenly.

It was a question Draco hadn't been expecting. "I suppose she has ... some attractive qualities," he admitted, somewhat guardedly. A rather startling idea was forming in his mind. "Surely you don't mean to..." He cleared his throat. "Do you mean to take her for yourself, my lord?" he asked, trying to sound off-hand.

Voldemort was not fooled. "In another time and place, Draco, there would be no question about it. But, alas, it cannot and will not be." He smiled indulgently at Draco. "Don't worry, Master Malfoy. Your manor will have a mistress soon. But you must teach her the conventions of our world, all of its intricacies, if she is to become mistress of it all.

"You said it yourself yesterday: purebloods bowing to a Mudblood. Well, why not? I am a Half-blood, after all. Oh, don't act surprised, Draco," he said impatiently. "You are not like the others, blinded by the belief in blood purity. I adopted that rhetoric because it is what _they_ understand, but you and I know differently. Power ... power is all that matters. There are those who have it, and those who have not. But you have always understood that, haven't you, Draco?"

"Yes."

And it was true. If there was anything true about him, it was that. He had always gravitated toward power. Even now.

* * *

Draco Apparated back to Black Castle and threw himself into the study, shutting the door behind him with a loud bang. He was unsettled, flustered even. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he hated it.

He slashed his wand angrily, sending a row of books flying from their shelf. Hermione walked in just as the last of them tumbled to the floor.

"I thought I heard you come home," she said, her tone almost teasing. Almost.

"Home?" he repeated, channeling his anger toward her. "This is anything but a '_home_', Granger. Nothing grows here, and anything that defies that rule dies in the process of defiance. This castle was constructed by the scion of the Black Family, on top of the very place Salazar Slytherin perfected the Dark Arts and started his crusade against those of lesser blood. Generations of Blacks have ensured the continuation of the pureblood line and practiced the Dark Arts in these halls. You are the first Mudblood to have ever stepped foot through those doors. Still want to call it a home?"

"Yes," she answered steadily. "Just your home, not mine."

He laughed hollowly. "You obviously have no idea who I am, do you, Granger? Voldemort knows me better than you."

She didn't reply, but he caught a glimpse of confusion and curiosity in her expression. He sighed, suddenly tired. He had been up all night, but there was no time to rest.

"Oh, it'll be your home, too, Granger, along with Malfoy Manor. Don't worry."

"So Voldemort still wants us to marry?"

"For a minute there, I thought he wanted to marry you himself." Hermione was visibly shocked, and this satisfied Draco to no small end. "But, no, you'll have to settle for being Madam Malfoy. Both sides of my family will be rolling in their graves, but in order to keep us out of our own, you're going to need to take a crash course in pureblood."

Hermione's head was still reeling from what he had revealed about Voldemort, so when he gestured her to sit in the chair in front of his desk, she did so readily.

He began to pace behind her. "Like I said, Voldemort resurrected the old pureblood ways when he returned to power. Starting today, you will learn all of its workings because the day you marry me, you will become one of us. Today, we will begin with the etiquette of arrival and departure, which differs according to status; the correct mode of acceptance and refusal; and methods of introduction. Tomorrow, we continue with conversation, including but not limited to acceptable and unacceptable topics, whom it is acceptable to converse with, and gestures of nonverbal communication. On the next day, we will proceed with basic knowledge on current fashion, you will be outfitted with a completely new wardrobe and learn to manipulate all articles of clothing to their best advantage..."

It was at the mention of fashion that Hermione needed a quick check with reality. She wanted to burst out laughing at how ridiculous it all was, how the world had come to Draco Malfoy instructing her on _fashion_. But he was glaring at her inattention, so she quelled this impulse immediately and refocused her mind on the task at hand.

"... On the following day, we will cover plot, intrigue, and the baser workings of this society. On the final day, we shall review and assess your improvement and decide from there what will follow."

Hermione felt the thrill of a challenge and joy at the opportunity to learn something new, to study something other than Mrs. Weasley's old cookbook. Draco glanced at her. The steel composure of her face pleased him, mirroring his own. Success loomed up in his mind's eye, more tangible than before.

"All right then, Master Malfoy."

"Then let us begin."

* * *

Hermione accepted every piece of wizarding etiquette Draco flung at her and performed so that he was hard put to come up with any criticism. Not one to let opportunity slip by, he rose to the occasion and pointed out every graceless motion, every slight hesitation, every gesture that was a fraction of a centimeter off its mark.

Draco brought her back to Voldemort's mansion to be outfitted with an entirely new wardrobe that would have made Pansy Parkinson weep for joy. He had a tumbler of Firewhiskey in one hand as Hermione showed him dress after dress for his approval.

He eyed the evening gown she had on with distaste. "Try it in this color," he ordered the seamstress, indicating his plum silk tie. "She looks too pale in red."

"Is that why you never wear it?" Hermione asked.

"Too passionate and too Gryffindor," he dismissed.

The plum did look very well, Hermione had to admit as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Now matching his tie, they looked like the perfect pureblood couple.

"You know, Malfoy, if this whole right-hand man of the Dark Lord thing doesn't work out, you should honestly try your hand at fashion."

Before he could retort, she turned on her heel to change into another dress.

Seventeen dresses later, as Madam Malkin's assistants were making the last notes and measurement for her order, Draco drew out a shoebox from a stack three feet high and gestured for Hermione to put on the pair of heels and walk about the room.

For someone accustomed to wearing flats, Hermione struggled with the added four inches. Her stride was passable, according to Draco, but her posture failed as she kept her eyes fixated on the ground.

"Granger, if you intend ..."

Wondering what could have made Draco Malfoy find himself at a loss for words, Hermione halted before the black hem of a robe. She expected to look up into a pair of grey eyes hiding a touch of amusement behind a wall of boredom. Instead, she found herself looking up at Lord Voldemort, his twisted smile distorting his already distorted features. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out a hand of bony, white fingers and traced their tips from the base of her neck to her chin, lifting it to its proper position.

"My dear, you must be the embodiment of pride. Only in this way will you succeed. Walk for me."

Hermione completed a circuit around him, chin held high as his fingers guided her.

"Promising, very promising," Voldemort approved, finally releasing her. She could feel the cold trail left by his fingers on her neck. "Draco, you have done well with Miss Granger. Very soon, she will dictate society, not the other way around. I look forward to that day with impatience."

He took her hand and raised it, pressing his lipless mouth on her fingers. Hermione stood still, watching the scene unfold before her as if she were just an onlooker. Despite years of practice and conditioning, Draco barely remembered to bow as Voldemort left the room. Hermione forgot entirely. She remained still for quite some time as if his cold touch had frozen her to the very core.

"All right, Granger, that's enough for today," Draco announced after a few moments passed and neither of them moved. "Very well done. His lordship is pleased."

With his words, the spell was broken, and time and movement returned. Madam Malkin and her assistants hurriedly gathered up the pieces of Hermione's wardrobe, packing them for transport. One witch even removed Hermione's heels for her and replaced them with her old flats.

By the time she was back in her usual clothes, Draco was no longer in the ballroom. Hermione saw him standing on the terrace, his back to her as he looked out. She made her way to his side, placing her hands right next to his on the balustrade so that they were almost touching. Almost.

Voldemort's appearance had caused them both to realize what they were in the middle of and how little of it they controlled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco nod once curtly, resolutely.

"Well done, Granger."

"Well done, Malfoy."


	8. Gambit

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 8: Gambit**

_Gambit: A sacrifice (usually of a pawn) in the opening._

Tuesday, July 1, 2003-Friday, August 15, 2003

* * *

It started with a trickle of gossip from Astoria Greengrass, who happened to be in Madam Malkins' shop when Hermione's completed wardrobe was sent out to Black Castle. Within moments, everyone was speculating the how, why, and who of this latest development.

In a daring move, the Greengrasses threw a party in Hermione's honor. When a majority of the invitations returned with an affirmative answer, from the lowliest hangers-on to Death Eaters, it became apparent that curiosity had triumphed over prejudice.

"Everything's proceeding as I expected," Draco informed the Order, on the night of the party. "Ahead of schedule, even."

"Then why isn't she here with you?" Harry asked, a tad of a threat in his voice. "It's dangerous for her to immerse herself this completely."

"That's exactly what she needs to do."

"Hermione's too _good_ for the pool of intrigue you've sank her into," Ginny added. "It's a web of lies and deceit and—"

"—and nothing she can't handle," Draco interrupted. He was getting rather tired of playing messenger boy-turned-knight errant for Granger. If she could stand up to Voldemort, she could stand up to the Order. He could make it homework for her. "_Fides_, Red_. _Have a little faith."

"What, in you?" Ron scoffed. "That'll be the day."

"Then it's been 'the day' for the last five years," Draco observed, glancing at his pocketwatch. "And I was talking about having faith in Granger, not me."

"She would never willingly betray us or give herself over to the Dark Side," Kingsley said. "But we've seen what Voldemort's capable of. He's tricked far more experienced witches and wizards into doing exactly what he wants without their even knowing they were doing work for him."

"And living with you all these years must have dimmed the brightest witch of the century?" Draco said mockingly. "Living with you all these years would have taken a great deal more intrigue than you think."

He prepared to leave them on that note. Ron stopped him with a firm grip on the arm.

"Don't fancy you know her more than I do, Malfoy," he said. "You know your enemies, I'll give you that. But Hermione's our friend, and you know your friends more than you could _ever_ know your enemies. Not that you would understand that, though, would you, Malfoy?"

Draco wrenched his arm from Ron's grip and Disapparated without gracing Ron's challenge with an answer.

* * *

After a quick stop at Black Castle, he Apparated with Hermione to the Greengrasses' penthouse. It was very rude to Apparate into the middle of a social function, but he as was Death Eater, no one would say anything, and for some odd reason the sting of Ron's insult had followed him from Grimmauld Place. They materialized behind the hostess and her daughter.

"Now we shall see who this Hermione Granger really is," Madam Greengrass was murmuring skeptically to her daughter.

"Indeed you shall," Draco interjected smoothly in the lull that followed, as everyone but the hostess had realized they had arrived. "Might I introduce you to your guest of honor? Miss Hermione Granger. Mrs. Alethea Greengrass and her daughter, Astoria."

The Greengrasses and Hermione greeted one another with handclasps and slight inclinations of the head. It was the proper greeting of pureblood to pureblood, on equal terms, just as Draco had taught her. Of course, as a Muggle-born, Granger should have been curtseying her ass off and not even looking the Greengrasses in the eye, but he hadn't bothered to teach her that. The faintest flicker of surprise registered in the Greengrasses' carefully schooled expressions.

"Thank you for honoring me with this gathering," Hermione said civilly, as Draco had taught her.

"Really, you flatter yourself too much," Madam Greengrass returned, all smile on the surface and venom underneath.

"I only return the favor."

Now, that hadn't been in the script. Draco tipped his head, ending the conversation, and drew Hermione away.

"Granger, with a tongue that sharp, I wouldn't be surprised if you accidentally stabbed yourself with it one of these days," Draco said, handing her a glass of wine and glaring away an approaching group of underlings. "But still," he raised his glass to her, "nicely done."

"Thank you, Malfoy," she said, acknowledging his concession as she clinked her glass against his. She surveyed the room as she took a sip. "So is this what you really do for fun?"

Little circles dotted the sprawling penthouse, wizards and witches in pristine robes sipped rosé as they spoke to one another, their conversation punctuated by bursts of affected laughter. It was a far cry from the debauchery of the Solstice Celebration.

"We _are_ a civilized lot," Draco said, "most of the time."

"Depends on your definition of civilization, I guess," Hermione murmured, eyes scanning the walls and taking in paintings of Muggles and Muggle-borns being persecuted by purebloods. "At least Black Castle doesn't look like this."

He decided not to tell her about the dungeon full of similar paintings.

"Oh, how was your visit?" she asked off-handedly.

"_Pots_ and pans want you home to wash the dishes," he muttered, leaning in toward her, knowing full well what a sensation this would cause. All the other guests might look engrossed in their own conversations, but he knew their attention was truly focused on himself and Hermione. "They're afraid you're getting in too deep."

Hermione made no effort to move away from him. She was acutely aware of the death glares every female—and, admittedly, some males—in the room was currently giving her and felt an odd sense of satisfaction. She met his gaze steadily.

"No way but down. Isn't that right, Malfoy?"

He clinked their glasses together again. "Cheers to that."

* * *

Across the room, Draco and Hermione had fallen under the close scrutiny of Blaise Zabini. So this was Hermione Granger, was it? Three years hiding in some cave in France had done the Mudblood good. He watched as Draco flirted openly with her, broadcasting loud and clear that he had laid claim to her.

"Cat got your tongue?" asked Pansy Zabini, née Parkinson, sidling up to his side. She followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. "Oh, _that_ cat," she said, unimpressed.

"Don't you have a few underlings' sheets to hit before the night is over?" Blaise asked his wife. "I would hate for you to come home properly dressed instead of in your usually disheveled state."

"Underlings are better than Mudbloods any day, Blaise."

"She's not just any Mudblood." Blaise's eyes narrowed as Draco leaned in to whisper something in Hermione's ear. "There's the prophecy to consider, and the Dark Lord himself seems to approve. Malfoy's probably queueing her up to be his mistress once he gets married!" Blaise realized. "He's supposed to propose to Astoria any day now. Smug bastard, pouncing on Granger right away, not giving the rest of us a fighting chance. Just like he's always done."

Pansy was about to point out that Blaise was likely to get himself killed for meddling in something he obviously did not understand. But, then again, being a widow wouldn't be all that bad. She would be free to marry again, and she and Draco used to get along so well...

"Well, dear husband, Draco _is_ a traditional pureblood, which means he has to marry first before he can have any real fun. While he will have to wait a couple months at least to claim Granger, you can have her tonight. I'll even let you use the house if you wish. Just leave your tie on the doorknob."

"What's in it for you, dear wife?" Blaise demanded, not fooled. His eyes shifted from Hermione to Draco. "Ah, of course. The one that got away. You think he'll pick you for his mistress if I take Hermione Granger as mine? Well, it's a long shot, but it would be a win-win for the Zabini household," he mused.

"I knew you weren't part of the Death Eater caste for nothing," Pansy approved. "Oh, wait, that's right. Your parents weren't Death Eaters, _mine_ were."

"Yet it's my mansion we're living in, my money we're all living _on_," Blaise reminded her. "Destitute Death Eaters have few options, as you are well aware, my dear."

"And that's why I have to spend the rest of my life married to you," Pansy hissed.

"You have only yourself to thank for that," Blaise shot back. it was an argument they'd had dozens of times, but reminding her never got old. "You turned tail too quickly, ran off the minute you thought Draco had fallen out of favor. Everyone in this room knows your story: _Months_ from being engaged and married to a Malfoy. _This_ close to being at the top of the world. But do you really think you would have liked being Madam Malfoy better than being my wife? Wake up, Pansy. This whole scene would be no different if you were married to Draco, only _he_ would be the one leaving a tie on the doorknob instead of me, while you're left out in the cold."

Feeling a rather vindictive pleasure at seeing his words hit home, Blaise swept two full glasses of champagne from a nearby tray and insinuated himself between Draco and Hermione.

"Ah, good," Draco greeted. "Excellent vintage, isn't it?"

"Quite," Blaise agreed, suavely switching Hermione's lukewarm, half-empty glass for a full, chilled one and keeping the other fresh glass for himself. "Do the honors, won't you, Draco?"

"Of course," Draco said amiably. "Mr. Blaise Zabini, owner of Gringotts Bank and the wizarding world's most eligible married man." Blaise nodded in the affirmative, eyes flicking towards Hermione. "Blaise, Miss Hermione Granger."

Blaise bent low over her hand. "Don't you remember me from our school days?"

"Of course," Hermione assured him. "Though we never were properly introduced."

"Wonderful how a proper introduction opens up a whole new field of possibilities," Blaise commented suggestively.

"Quite."

Draco considered Blaise with a calculated eye as he flirted with Hermione. He knew exactly what Blaise was after, and it really shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did.

"Now, now, Blaise, it wouldn't do to monopolize Miss Granger's conversation," Draco intervened. "What would your wife think?" He and Blaise smirked at each other as if they were sharing a good joke. "I daresay you can continue this chat—"

"—over lunch tomorrow," Blaise finished, raising an eyebrow Hermione. "Are you free at noon?"

There was no chance to see what Draco wanted her to do. "I don't believe I have any other engagements," Hermione said, hedging for time, giving Draco the opportunity to hint at what she should do. He didn't. "I'd be delighted, Blaise," she committed boldly.

"Settled then," Blaise agreed. "I'll owl you the details."

Draco took her elbow none-too-gently. "Sorry, Blaise, I should introduce her to Daphne as well. Miss Granger, if you'd come with me..."

As Draco steered Hermione away, Blaise felt his self-confidence swell, though it immediately deflated again as Pansy pounced on him.

"Well?" Pansy prompted, smirking at Draco's and Hermione's retreating backs. "Did Draco not want you to play with his shiny new toy?"

"I have a date with her tomorrow," he boasted.

"Draco just let you?" Pansy did not have to feign her surprise.

"Did he have any choice?" Blaise scoffed.

"Draco Malfoy always has a choice in everything. If he doesn't like something, it doesn't happen. Be careful, Blaise. Draco's a mastermind at getting people to do exactly what he wants, when he wants it."

"I hope you know what you've done," Draco said to Hermione, as he led her across the penthouse. "You've promised Blaise a tête-à-tête, which means I cannot be there." He leaned in closer. "Are you ready for me to let go of your hand, Granger? Do you really think you can handle this on your own?"

"Of course," Hermione said defiantly.

"We'll see," Draco said skeptically.

* * *

They did see, and Draco was almost disappointed when Hermione succeeded. Almost.

She played the game well, leading Blaise on but never committing herself, always keeping him at arm's length ... both literally and figuratively. The party invitations continued to pour in, quickly followed by small gifts, then more expensive ones. Draco had all of them disposed of in the dungeons, just in case a particularly enterprising underling was trying his hand at espionage or a jealous witch at sabotage.

Voldemort continued to take county after county where little pockets of resistance flourished. Draco was able to send word to the Order just in time to get most of the rogue wizards and witches to safety, but beyond the little skirmishes that broke out when the timing was tight, no big clash with the Order occurred.

The weeks slipped by, and Voldemort made no big move, even though he had Hermione in his clutches. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding her and would lecture Draco about patience whenever he ventured to hint at making wedding plans.

The Order grew restive at the inactivity and increasingly mistrustful of Draco, despite all the other useful information he passed along to them. Draco himself was beginning to doubt whether Voldemort intended for them to marry at all, and he began to suspect that Voldemort _was _entertaining thoughts of taking Hermione for himself.

"Miss Granger appears to be enjoying herself?" Voldemort asked suddenly one day.

"Yes, my lord, greatly," Draco assured him. "Though I think she's starting to find these parties a bit of a waste of her time," he added, which was true.

"Perhaps it is time for a little test to prove her loyalty to me," Voldemort said. "All of my most faithful followers, after all, had to pass a test to join my ranks."

"And if she passes?"

"If she passes, she is faithful to me. If she is faithful to me, then I will reward her." Draco hardly dared breathe as Voldemort continued, "All of my Death Eaters were raised for this life, but she was not. If she passes, she defies even herself. If she is faithful to me, I will give her the Mark."

* * *

It had been two months since Hermione had left Grimmauld Place. Whenever she wasn't at some party or other function, she was at Black Castle, increasingly alone for Draco was being sent by Voldemort to beat out the last of the resistance. Even when he wasn't on assignment, he mostly stayed at Malfoy Manor.

She was thinking of visiting the Order that evening. It wasn't out of loneliness—she had been lonely enough while living there—but she was curious to see if anything had changed, if _she _had changed.

She was putting on her cloak for a quick pop into Grimmauld when a note arrived from Draco, informing her that she was to meet him at the Dark Lord's mansion immediately.

She frowned. She had been scheduled to go to a party that night, but rumor had it all the Death Eaters had regretfully declined the invitation and were planning an exclusive event of their own. She wondered if this was it. But surely Draco would have warned her beforehand? Finishing fastening her cloak, she Disapparated.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her. Hermione found herself in a room of fully-robed Death Eaters standing in a circle, Voldemort and now herself in the center.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," Voldemort greeted.

"My lord," Hermione returned with a low bow. She scanned her surroundings for a familiar, albeit masked, face. From all sides, cold, glittering eyes stared relentlessly at her. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such company?"

"You pledged your loyalty to me at the Solstice, and now you must prove it," Voldemort said simply. "Bring him in."

At Voldemort's command, one Death Eater strode over to a door and dragged in a bloody mess of robes. Tangled up in the tatters was a badly mangled, yet miraculously breathing body. The Death Eater brutally dropped the person into a heap at Hermione's feet.

For Hermione, there was only one familiar face in the room. It was the bruised and bloodied face of Ernie Macmillan staring at her feet. From what she could see, the bones in both of his legs were broken and his shoulders were dislocated from their sockets, signs of prolonged use of the Cruciatus.

"Mummy," he sobbed in a high-pitched voice, addressing Hermione's shoes. "Mummy, it _hurts_."

The Death Eaters laughed uproariously. One shot a spell towards Ernie, but Voldemort deflected it. The laughter immediately died.

"He is hers to finish," he reprimanded the caster of the spell in the silence that followed. "Miss Granger, please do the honors."

Slowly, Hermione pulled out her wand. She had to do it, or she and Draco were done for. The scrape of wood against the silk of her robes sounded incredibly loud to her ears. To kill Ernie and end his misery now was the merciful thing to do. Even if his body could be healed, he would likely end up insane like George Weasley.

The Death Eaters were practically humming with excitement. Hermione stared down the length of her wand and down into Ernie's eyes.

For one instant, sanity returned to him as he recognized her.

"H-H-Hermione!" he wheezed through cracked ribs. "Pl-please—please d-don't! I'll do anything—_anything—_"

It only took one instant for Hermione to seal her fate.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The Death Eaters let out a howl of delight as green light illuminated every corner of the room. Only one Death Eater, the one that had dragged Ernie in, did not join in their revelry. He slowly removed his mask, a strange light shining in his eyes.

Hermione did not see Draco unmask himself because she was too busy staring into Ernie's open eyes, where no light would shine again, trying to figure out what she had just done.


	9. Attack

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 9: Attack**

_Attack: An aggressive move or strategy._

Saturday, August 16, 2003

* * *

The next few hours passed by in a blissful whirlwind of numbness for Hermione. After unmasking themselves, the Death Eaters applauded, praised, and passed her from one to the other. She was admired and petted as if she were a particularly well-trained dog who had just executed a marvelous trick for their entertainment. She did not resist any of it.

She also did not look for Draco. Why should she? He had led her into this trap unaware. Maybe it was all part of his glorious, flawless plan, but he had revealed his true self to her that night. He was just another selfish man who wanted all the glory and power and didn't care how he got it; and she was just his pawn, another stepping stone on his way to the top.

When the drink no longer satisfied and the Death Eaters became restless, she was led to Voldemort, many pairs of hands pushing and grabbing at her from all directions. Bodies pressed in from all sides. The Death Eaters were humming excitedly again, several chanting fervently in a strange language neither English nor Latin. She was forced to her knees at Voldemort's feet to receive her reward, which was nothing more than burnt flesh and pain—a very satisfying sort of pain.

At the end of it all, she gathered enough wits to Apparate herself back to Black Castle. As she stood in the middle of the dark, empty entrance hall, she felt an overwhelming sense of despair sweep over her, threatening to suffocate her in its intensity. Her actions that night had gone against everything she had ever stood for. She could feel the brand of her hypocrisy like burning flames crawling on her skin, consuming her.

Sinking to the floor, she wondered how it had all come to this. All she wanted was to disappear off the face of the earth, to be forgotten by everyone who had ever known her.

The soft sound of silk against stone caused her to whirl around. There was a robed figure standing behind her, darker than the darkness.

It was Draco.

"_You_," she breathed, injecting the one word with every ounce of venom she could muster.

He pulled her to her feet, his hands vice-like on her wrists. Even in the dark, he could see the betrayal in her eyes.

"I had to do it, Granger. You understand, don't you?" he whispered intensely. "You wouldn't have done it if I had warned you beforehand, and everything would have been ruined."

"You knew from the beginning I would have to kill," she realized.

"Granger, you saw how bad Macmillan was," Draco said, his voice tight. "You had to kill him. It was the only thing you could have done for him. There was no other choice."

"There's always a choice, Malfoy, and I chose your way that night in Grimmauld Place. I put my faith in you. I didn't pay any attention to what everyone else _knew_." She spared him one look of disdain. "You're heartless, Malfoy. You're heartless, and you're cold."

"I offered you _something_ that night when everyone was content to continue giving you nothing. You said you'd do _anything_ for it to end, so I took you for your word. The end matters, not the means."

"Even if it costs you your soul, Malfoy?" she asked, ripping her wrists from his grip, ripping the sleeve of her robes to show the Dark Mark burnt onto her pale skin, flushed red in rejection of the Dark Magic.

He suddenly looked tired and much older than his 23 years as he shrugged and pulled up his own sleeve, exposing the identical Mark on his forearm. "Granger, I never said it was going to be easy. But I wouldn't start worrying about your soul just yet. You still care, and that says more than anything else."

Draco let his arm drop, and his Dark Mark was out of sight once more. He glanced at Hermione, who was still holding out her arm defiantly. Looking at her, he clasped her wrist and pulled her arm toward him. He cast a Cooling Spell around her forearm, soothing the irritated skin. Then he slowly draped the ripped material of her sleeve together, covering the Mark.

"It's murder, what Voldemort and his followers do," Draco said, breaking the silence but not releasing her. "They do it out of the pure enjoyment of hurting others. That's not why you did it. You did it out of mercy."

"Please don't tell the Order what I did," she pleaded in a whisper.

"What you had to do," he amended.

After a moment, she nodded.

* * *

"Ernie's body was found," Ron reported dully, dropping a pile of photographs in front of Harry.

"His body," Harry repeated slowly. He did not touch the photos. "Where?"

"Hanging from the Leaky Cauldron sign."

Harry swore under his breath. "And the wizards who were supposed to be protecting him?"

"They escaped back to Canada," Ron said scornfully. "Every single one of them without so much as a scratch! They're demanding payment, the bastards."

"Arrange the transfer of funds," Harry said wearily. "We must honor the agreement, even if Ernie didn't make it."

"That'll be the last of Sirius' gold, Harry," Lupin reminded. "We can't afford to try to bring in anymore recruits. They'd have to reach us alone, and no one will risk that."

"I always supported a Gringotts raid," Ron supplied unhelpfully.

"Blaise Zabini's head of Gringotts, and he hoards his gold better than the goblins did," Lupin said.

"I always suspected that Hermione kept her old Time-Turner," Ron said wistfully.

"Oh, be realistic, Ron," Ginny snapped.

"Hey, Zabini's mentioned here!" Tonks exclaimed, whose turn it was to scour the day's papers for any useful information.

"When isn't he?" Ron said. "That idiot likes the limelight as much as he loves his gold and hates his wife. Well, what's he up to now?"

"'_Mr. Blaise Zabini, the wizarding world's most eligible married man, was in attendance at Wednesday's gala. Though he declined any comment on the rumor of a break-in at Gringotts Bank, h__e spent much of the evening at Miss Hermione Granger's side, who was __officially _escorted to the event by Master Draco Malfoy. This _follows hard on the heels of reports of yet another luncheon date between Harry Potter's former ally and the bank owner. _Pureblood Papers_ will be on the lookout for more developments on this front.'_"

Tonks slowly set down the paper.

"Malfoy's selling her like a common whore!" Ron declared.

"Malfoy wouldn't dare try that behind our backs," Harry said. "And even if he did, Hermione wouldn't let him."

"So sure about that, are you, Potter?" Mad-Eye Moody demanded.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked dangerously.

"Granger was pretty desperate to begin with when she agreed to all this," Moody said. "Do you know how far she's willing to take it?"

"Come on," said Harry, looking to the others for support. "This is Hermione we're talking about. She'll take it as far as she thinks is necessary and no further."

"But who gets to decide how far 'necessary' is?" Moody challenged.

"It was a gamble from the beginning," Lupin admitted in placating tones. "I, however, am with Harry on this one. I've always respected Hermione and her decisions. I highly doubt she will disappoint us."

"She did when she chased after Mummy and Daddy instead of manning her post," Moody growled.

"Mad-Eye!" Tonks yelled angrily, slamming her hand down on the table.

"We won't extract her yet," Harry said, with a warning glance at Moody, "but at the first sign of trouble, she's out of there, no matter what she or Malfoy says." His eyes shone for a moment. "The Order is still powerful."

"The Horcruxes, Harry," Ginny reminded. "We need to find them as soon as possible. The Order has power as long as this stalemate continues, but once that's broken with an open act of war, it's only a matter of time before our resources run out."

No one wasted breath pointing out that the main resource of the Order was their own lives.

"_Fides_, Ginny," Harry said. "Faith."

He stood up and walked to where his cloak lay crumpled on the kitchen floor. From the worn-out folds of cloth, he drew out a warped and twisted piece of gold that might have been a goblet once.

"Hufflepuff's cup!" Ginny exclaimed. "Harry, how in the world do you come to have that?" she demanded dangerously.

"Zabini '_declined any comment on the rumor of a break-in at Gringotts Bank_'," Tonks reread the article. She stared up at Harry with her mouth hanging open. "How did you do it?"

"Harry, tell me you did not break into Gringotts Bank," Lupin said sternly.

He didn't answer, just laid the sword of Gryffindor, which he'd had ever since they had been captured at Malfoy Manor five years ago, on the table beside the ruined cup.

"Are you telling us you just waltzed into Gringotts, by yourself, without telling anyone?" Ginny was speaking haltingly, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "_Do you know how utterly idiotic that was?!_"

Harry began pacing around the room. Still stunned in disbelief and awe, everyone watched him.

"Riddle's diary, Gaunt's ring, Slytherin's locket, and now Hufflepuff's cup. All that remains is something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's."

"And the snake," everyone said automatically.

"And Voldemort," Harry added wryly.

"This something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's could be anywhere in the world," Ginny reminded, though she was looking at Harry with renewed belief.

"We're a lot closer to the end than you'd think," Ron said eagerly. "When Hermione finds out—"

"No," Harry said at once. "We don't tell them about the cup."

Everyone looked at Harry in surprise.

"Why not?" Tonks demanded incredulously.

"Harry, we can't start keeping information from Hermione," Lupin said. "You can't even _begin_ to imagine the consequences—"

"I don't want to keep the information from Hermione, but from Malfoy," Harry explained.

"Smartest thing you've said all day, boy," Moody muttered.

"There's something wrong about this plan of his that I can't put a finger on," Harry continued, as if Moody hadn't spoken. "But as long as Hermione doesn't come to Grimmauld Place and continues to rely on Malfoy to play messenger, we can't tell her."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Harry," Lupin warned.

"I have a feeling there's an even more dangerous one being played around us."

* * *

"Draco, what do you think about marriage?" Voldemort asked Draco.

This was it. Draco strangely felt very calm, though he suspected Voldemort was about to reveal that he intended to make Hermione his queen. He had doomed her, damned her.

"It's a complete waste of time," Draco drawled.

Voldemort nodded indulgently. "Blaise Zabini continues to bother Miss Granger, sending her flowers every day and attempting to visit her. If I didn't think it a waste of my time, I would deal with Blaise very harshly for his presumption, trying to take something that is beyond his reach.

"There is, however, another more suited, more deserving of her, someone whose destiny is undoubtedly and wholly intertwined with hers. Do you not see it, Draco? Do you think it merely coincidence that _you_ would find Hermione Granger after all these years? Or was it destiny?"

"I don't put my faith in destiny," Draco answered truthfully. "I believe we make our own destiny."

"You do not have faith, Draco," Voldemort snapped. "Not in yourself, not in anyone."

The indulgence had disappeared from Voldemort's voice. When Draco spoke again, it was with care. "What are you saying, my lord?"

"Hermione Granger is your destiny, Draco. Your power and hers, combined to serve me. Yes, Draco, that is your destiny, and that is my wish."

Draco bowed lowly. "As you command, my lord."

"Potter found another one, Draco," Voldemort said softly. "He does take one by surprise, does he not?"

"He does indeed." And Draco meant it.

The instant he left Voldemort, Draco's thoughts and energy were bent on reaching Grimmauld Place. There were two things he wanted very much to tell them: One, they were bloody idiots for not telling him sooner that they had found a Horcrux. And two, Voldemort knew when a Horcrux was destroyed. Everything, every _single_ thing that they had worked for all these years hung in the balance and was in danger of being lost unless they acted with the utmost care.

He Apparated into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Everyone looked up at him veiled apprehension and open hostility—nothing different with that greeting.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

They stared at him blankly, and he stared back, a vague suspicion taking form in the back of his mind.

"Malfoy?" Harry said, frowning slightly when Draco continued to maintain his silence. "Is something wrong? Has something happened to Hermione?"

"No, I'm about to join her at the Zabinis for tea," Draco said, trying to appear more relaxed. He almost succeeded. Almost. "She just wanted me to check in here beforehand. I told her it was pointless. Same old, same old. Nothing new..."

He allowed his last words to trail away, giving them one last chance to redeem themselves. They continued to look at him with frank self-righteousness shining in their eyes, not a hint of deception in their expressions. Draco felt a vindictive satisfaction in being the only one to see their glaring hypocrisy. Even Death Eaters had to wear masks...

So the Order had begun keeping secrets from them. Then ... if that's how they wanted to play ... he was not going to be the one to spoil their sport.

"Right then," he said, preparing to Disapparate. "I'll tell her you said hi, then, shall I?"

Harry stood up. "Wait, Malfoy! Why did you really come here? Is Hermione all right? What are you—?"

But Draco had already Disapparated to Malfoy Manor. Barking orders for the nearest house-elf to bring him a fresh set of robes, Draco strode into the east wing of the house, the side his mother had occupied when she had been alive. Ignoring the thick layer of dust that had gathered on all surfaces, Draco headed straight for his mother's room. He opened her jewelry box and took out a velvet box.

* * *

Resplendent in one of his finest sets of robes, he arrived at the Zabinis and was quickly ushered into the hall Pansy used for daytime entertainment. With high ceilings and enough lace and cushions to satisfy all of Pansy's desires, the room resembled an 18th-century French salon—without the intelligent conversation. In the center of the room sat Pansy, Blaise, and Hermione. Brushing greetings aside, Draco strode straight for them.

"Why, Draco!" exclaimed Pansy, smiling brightly as he drew nearer. "We thought you'd never make it! How did business go with the Dark Lord?"

"It went," he answered shortly.

He had locked gazes with Hermione. Her eyes went wide in uncontrollable surprise as he strode to her, seized her hands, and raised her to her feet.

"Miss Granger," he said, steadily maintaining eye contact as he slid his mother's ring onto her finger. He tried to put everything he could not say into that one look. "Hermione, will you do me the greatest honor and consent to be my wife, to always stand by my side, equal partners in anything and everything we do?"

As Hermione returned his gaze, Draco saw she understood this was more than just a proposal of marriage. The flicker of confusion had not yet died away in her eyes, but he could already see her assent shining through. In that look, he caught a glimpse of unwavering trust in him. It startled him, but he did not shy away.

His grip on her hands tightened ever so slightly, reassuring her that she had placed her trust in something worthwhile. Hermione nodded slowly, eyes bright.

"Yes, Draco, I will."


	10. Blunder

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 10: Blunder**

_Blunder: A very bad move, an oversight._

Monday, August 18, 2003-Friday, September 19, 2003

* * *

"I prefer the marbled green," Draco said, frowning at the creamy white parchment Hermione was considering. "The marbled green parchment with the emerald lettering and silver border," he informed the printer.

Draco and Hermione were picking out their wedding invitations. They were in his study at Black Castle, seated behind the large mahogany desk while the printer nervously hovered in front of them as they considered his finest samples. With Draco's decision, the printer came forward to collect the samples, but Hermione brushed him away with a wave of her hand.

"I prefer the pure white parchment with the emerald lettering and a gold border," Hermione said. "The gold border especially."

The printer quickly shuffled backwards. Draco exhaled slowly and reclined in his high-backed leather chair.

"Gold never goes with green," Draco said dismissively, holding his gold-gilt quill up against the green parchment to prove his point.

Their eyes met briefly over the edge of the paper, amusement dangerously close to the surface. Though Draco's expression remained properly disinterested, he looked as if it was taking all of his will power not to roll his eyes. He glanced at her unwavering expression and sighed. "Make the invitations exactly as I specified, but use my fiancée's preference for the envelopes. Send the finished products to the Manor."

"Yes, sir," the printer acquiesed, bobbing his head up and down in humble gratitude as he collected the samples and shuffled his way backwards toward the door. "You have been most kind to—"

"Yes," Draco interrupted impatiently. "I expect the entire order no later than this afternoon. Good day." He waited until the printer was out of earshot before rounding on Hermione. "Were you really going to argue with me over wedding invitations?"

Hermione shrugged. "I always imagined my wedding invitations with gold borders."

Draco frowned. "You can have your gold border when you marry Weasley, or at least you can draw it in by hand then."

"Will that be before or after he and the Order finds out that I'm engaged to you?"

The sarcasm in her response was cuttingly sharp. Their engagement had made the front page of every newspaper in the wizarding world. The entire Order, who always had an eye on the papers, would have all had to have gone blind not to know the exact shape and size of the ring that now rested on Hermione's finger.

"Malfoy, you threw down the gauntlet," she said. "You were in Grimmauld Place minutes before you proposed to me. You had all the chance in the world to warn them about it so they wouldn't have to find out from the front page of the_ Daily Prophet_! And you proposed in such a public, theatrical way just to make sure they got the message!"

"I thought such a momentous event in our lives deserved the best dramatic entrance I could muster," he said, feigning innocence. "A tea party with all of Voldemort's finest assembled was just too good a chance to pass up."

Hermione was completely unfazed. "Your theatrics erased any trust the Order could have had in this entire affair."

"Does it look like I care?"

"Yes."

Draco exhaled slowly, not wanting to admit she was right. He was not a person easily read, and now she was reading him like an open book. It was his own fault, really. Gone was the downtrodden girl he had pulled out of the dregs of Grimmauld two months ago. He saw before him the confidence in her posture, the assertive tilt of her head—all his handiwork and now the workings of a potential headache.

He shrugged carelessly. "Then break our engagement and go back to the Order."

Hermione crossed her arms and looked out the window. Of course that wasn't an option. She was in this with him ... and she would be lying if she said she wasn't a bit miffed the Order was keeping secrets from her, too.

"We're going to have to make peace with them," Hermione said decidedly. "We can't fight two enemies at once. It will get us nowhere or worse."

"I take one step into Grimmauld Place, and that's the last you'll ever hear of Draco Malfoy."

"Don't pretend to fear them when you don't."

"Don't pretend to know me."

"I don't have to pretend."

They glared at each other, but there was no true spite behind it.

"So what do you propose?" Draco smirked at his word choice and decided to start over. "What would you have us do? Even if I admit to you that I committed a tactical error—which I'm _not_,by the way—apologizing to the Order is out of the question."

"The thought of you getting down on your knees to beg forgiveness from the Order is as ridiculous as the thought of you getting down on one knee to propose," Hermione dismissed. "No, it must be something else..." After a moment's thought and idle gazing out the window, it came to her. "Yes ... _I_ have to go reassure the Order everything's all right."

Draco raised a dubious eyebrow in her direction, but his interest was piqued.

"Don't be difficult, Malfoy," Hermione said impatiently. "The Order doesn't trust you because you're holed up in Grimmauld Place, where they can keep an eye on you at all times. You're out of their control, and it scares them."

"Same goes for you now," he observed.

"Exactly. What you did showed them just how little power they have over our actions." She paused, faint curiosity and confusion in her tone when she asked, "Why did you do it?"

He toyed with his quill. "Not everyone has to kiss their asses just because they happen to be on the right side of this war. Being on the right side does not make them right in everything."

Hermione understood more than she wanted to show. "Nevertheless, I will go to them and convince them they can still trust me. This is getting difficult, isn't it? With you, I shouldn't trust the Order. With the Order, I shouldn't trust you. And Voldemort is the only one pretending to trust _me_ at all."

"I hope you understand what this means," Draco said brusquely. "We'll be playing both Voldemort _and_ the Order."

"That's exactly what you've been doing all these years."

"Granger, you're throwing in your entire lot with me."

"Don't you know I did that when I said 'yes' to you in Pansy's parlor, when I said 'yes' to you in the basement of Grimmauld Place?" Hermione said, almost sounding amused. Almost. "Malfoy, that isn't a question of _my_ trusting _you. _It's all about whether or not you trust me."

To keep from having to answer, Draco started summoning the caterer, the next appointment they had, but he stopped short.

"Granger, don't you know why I chose you for all this?" he asked, staring at the suddenly interesting fireplace. "Because you're ... _you. _You _believe_ in things. You believe in absolutes, in good and evil, in right and wrong and nothing in between. Because I trust you to make the right decision ... and to keep me from making the wrong one."

His confession shook both of them more than they wanted to admit. They both sat down behind the desk again, avoiding one another's eyes. Hermione pulled a sample menu from the neat pile of parchment on her side of the desk, but she was staring at it blindly. Draco still did not summon the caterer.

"Granger?"

She set down the menu to show she was listening.

"If—when you go back to the Order, you're going to have to lie about the Dark Mark. They ... they won't understand."

"Of course. I'm going to lie straight to their faces." She smiled bitterly. "And then won't you be so proud of me?"

It was only half a question, so Draco gave her only half an answer. "I think Voldemort will be the one jumping for joy."

* * *

It was some time before Hermione paid the promised visit to the Order. Engagement parties were being thrown left and right for her and Draco. She was invited to join all the elite clubs and circles that the wealthy and ridiculously bored ladies of pureblood society had formed to amuse themselves with. An entire month slipped by before her thoughts turned seriously to the Order again.

When Hermione found herself scheduling a luncheon with Pansy Parkinson-Zabini for a half hour more than was absolutely necessary just to take up time, she knew she had put off her visit for too long. Yet she couldn't bring herself to Apparate to Grimmauld Place, even though the Order had had enough time to get used to their engagement. It was publicized in every medium possible, from _Witch Weekly_ to the wizarding wireless. She had seen to it that one invitation was owled to Grimmauld Place. All that was left was for her to find the courage to face them, and she didn't find that courage until she was facing a three-sided, full-length mirror in her wedding dress on her wedding day.

"Oh, God," she breathed, staring at her reflection.

A stranger stared back at her from the soft folds of white silk, someone whose bushy brown hair had been magicked into luscious curls and cheeks turned pink once more by the liberal hand of a professional make-up artist who served the crème de la crème of society. She looked very beautiful in the emptiest sense of the word.

Behind her, the door clicked shut. She looked up in the mirror and saw Draco.

"I know what you're going to say, Granger, but it's not possible for us to start off with any more bad luck," Draco said, looking over her shoulder at his own reflection and straightening his bowtie.

Their eyes met in the mirror. "Ten minutes is all I ask," she said, laying down her bouquet.

Draco nodded once, as if he had been expecting it the entire time. "It's all I can give you," he answered truthfully. She nodded and prepared to Disapparate. "And, Granger." She froze. "It's not too late to walk away. The Order does still have the power to get you out. I won't hold it against you."

"You won't, but I will. Ten minutes," she repeated, slipping on her elbow-length gloves, which conveniently concealed the Dark Mark, before she Disapparated.

* * *

She walked down the shadowy hallway that led to the kitchen. Her immaculate dress practically radiated in the darkness, the train swishing over the threadbare carpet. She took her steps slowly, satin-covered fingers tracing the design of the faded, torn wallpaper as she passed. She could hear hastily rising voices from the kitchen.

"I have to stop that wedding!" Ron said, his tone desperate. "I can't just sit here and let it happen!"

"Be reasonable, Ron," Lupin admonished. "We did not survive this long by bursting into rooms full of Death Eaters!"

Harry and Lupin were literally holding Ron back while the others looked on. His hair was standing nearly on end from the many times he had run a distracted hand through it. He looked as if he had not changed clothes in days, and a nearly empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat at his usual place at the table.

"You'll kill yourself, and Hermione!" Tonks said.

"As long as Malfoy follows!" Ron declared wildly.

"Ron, that's insane!" Harry said. "It's not the end of the world—""

"Of course it is," Ron said. "_I'm _insane. I _love_ her. There never was, there never _could be_ anyone else—"

"Hiding in the shadows," a smooth, disapproving voice said in her ear. "And I thought Gryffindors were marked for their bravery?"

This struck a chord. She whirled around to face Draco, her brown eyes alive with anger.

"Only because Slytherins are marked for their cowardice!" she hissed. "I'm only trying to fix what you wrecked, remember?" she hissed, before turning and striding out of hiding.

She had turned round and strode out of hiding before she realized Draco had said that just to provoke her into action.

Ron stopped struggling and stared at her as if he could not believe his eyes. The rest of the Order's initial surprise slowly turned into varying degrees of sadness, pity, and disbelief. Though she had leapt into their midst with veil flying like a battle banner, Draco could see her resolve failing now that she stood face to face with them.

Ginny was the first to move. "Hermione ..." she faltered. She smiled weakly. "You look beautiful."

"You can't do this," Harry spoke up, his face grey. "It's not to late to turn back—"

"Harry, turning back stopped being an option a long time ago."

"Anything you want is an option," Harry answered. "We can get you out of the country—"

"Don't do it, Hermione," Ron pleaded, voice breaking. "Please don't marry him."

"Oh, Ron, can't you see it's the only way? I have to. I can't back out now. Voldemort will kill him, and then what? That'll be the beginning of the end. We won't know anything that Voldemort's planning. We'll _lose_."

Ron turned, seized her hands in his own, and placed a kiss on the backs of each of them.

"Just promise me that when this is all over and done with, we'll get married—an Unbreakable Ceremony so that no one can ever take us away from each other. We'll buy a house in the country, far away from here, so that we can watch the sunrise and sunset from our porch, because it couldn't be anything but sunny every day then. And our home will be small so that our kids can have acres and acres to play—"

"Ron, stop," Hermione ordered.

"No, Hermione. I've been stopping myself for years. I never believed I was good enough for you—"

"I can't promise you that," she blurted out.

"Why not?" he demanded, looking more confused than hurt.

"Because I'm marrying Malfoy through the Unbreakable Vow."

At this revelation, everyone jumped to their feet, determined to stop her from leaving by sheer force. The protests that arose from the Order echoed deafeningly in the small room.

"Hermione, you can't!"

"Are you crazy?!"

Placing his hands on her shoulders, Ron's despairing blue eyes locked onto hers. "Please don't do this."

She backed out of his reach. "But we can't always have what we want," she reminded him sadly. "Or what others want of us."

"You're not going anywhere, Hermione!" Harry said, blocking her path. "The Unbreakable Vow! That's a death contract!"

"Voldemort would have it no other way."

"Well, _we're_ not going to have it that way," Harry declared, taking a hold of her arm, right where her Mark was.

"Granger?" Draco stepped through the doorway of the kitchen, his voice cutting through the din. The Order looked from him to Hermione, waiting for her to make her decision. "_Hermione_," he said more urgently, holding his hand out towards her.

"Coming," she answered softly, avoiding Ron's gaze.

She pushed past Harry, who released her and let her by without any protest, paralyzed in shock. As she took Draco's hand, she looked back over her shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she told them. "But there is no other way."

"You don't have to be martyr," Ron said desperately.

"Better a martyr than an unwilling victim," she replied.

"Anyway you look at it, they're both just casualties of war."

Draco started to give his own response, but Hermione stopped him with a firm grip on his arm. "Anyway you look at it, we're all casualties already."

Under her fingers, Draco's arm felt strangely comforting in its steadiness. Draco could feel her shaking. Figuring it might make things complicated if the bride splinched herself, Draco took it upon himself to Apparate both of them to their wedding.

It took Hermione a moment to realize she was no longer in Grimmauld Place but right outside the doors that led into the ballroom of Voldemort's mansion. She could hear the numerous wedding guests waiting on the other side. She froze.

"Oh, come on, Granger," Draco said impatiently, turning to face her and giving her a shake. His eyes gleamed. "You're not backing out now, not after that. Paint yourself out to be some sort of martyr going to execution? The only way? No choice at all? You and I both know that this _is_ your choice. This is you making your own destiny."

"And how about you?" she demanded. "Have you finally thrown your lot in with me? Are we making our own destiny together, or are you just playing me like everyone else?"

"Granger, if you don't know the answer to that, don't walk through these doors. Oh, and happy birthday."

And without further ado, he strode into the hall, leaving her alone to make her choice.

* * *

Voldemort stepped away from the pair kneeling before him, their hands still clasped as the last bond of magic slowly faded away. The bride and groom stood, first bowing to their Bonder, then to their guests.

The thunderous applause faded to the background for both husband and wife as Draco pulled Hermione closer to him. He maneuvered her expertly, bending her backwards and leaning down over her amid whoops of approval from the guests and the continuous flashing of photographers' cameras.

"Whoever thought it would come to this?" he whispered. "Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger wed in magical matrimony."

"We did," she answered, eyes gleaming. "Because we make our own destiny."

And because they already had put it off for too long, Draco pulled her in for a kiss.


	11. Battery

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 11: Battery**

_Battery: Two or more pieces of the same color supporting each other._

Saturday, September 20, 2003

* * *

A cheering crowd escorted the newly minted Master and Madam Malfoy across the grounds to their home, the grand, grey estate that had housed 10 centuries of Malfoys.

"Merlin, Granger, you must have gone to town on those hors d'oeuvres," Draco said as he carried her in his arms.

"It's the dress, you bastard," she hissed in between giggles and cheery waves over his shoulder. "Try it in heels."

"No, thanks. I'm already having trouble carrying you as it is." Despite his words, he gracefully turned in a full circle for the benefit of their audience, sending her veil flying in the breeze.

The doors opened of their own accord as they neared, and Hermione tried not to be impressed by his display of wandless magic. He deliberately stepped over the threshold, pausing slightly for the benefit of the cameras.

"Thank you very much for helping us celebrate today," Draco said, turning round right inside the doorway with her still in his arms. "Now, we have our own private celebration to get to."

He smirked while the guests cat-called and wolf-whistled. Leaning down for a kiss, he began to retreat dramatically into the shadows. The heavy doors fell shut with a loud _thud_, blocking out the clicking shutters and flashing lights of photographers eager to get the last shot of Master and Madam Malfoy on their wedding night.

He dropped her unceremoniously, and she stumbled back against the door. The sudden silence was disorienting.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor."

Instead of turning her attention to the gaping darkness Draco gestured toward with one imperious hand, Hermione looked up at her husband. It was cooler here than it was outside in the still-warm September night, as if warmth or sunlight was something that never dared encroach in this space.

"Not exactly your dream home, is it, Granger?" he continued, not knowing her gaze rested on him. His jaw was clenched tightly, and he seemed far from the proud owner of the house.

"It doesn't seem to be yours either," she observed.

"One doesn't have a choice when the house carries your name ... Madam Malfoy," he added.

Hermione continued to watch him as he stepped into the darkness, the black silk of his robes blending in perfectly with the shadows. She could only mark his progress down the cavernous entrance hall by the lightness of his white-blonde hair. Hermione remained standing where he had left her, the flounces of her wedding dress crushed against the door, her gloved hands gripping the door handle behind her.

"Do you know how the custom of carrying the bride over the threshold came to be, Granger?" he inquired, now merely a voice in the darkness. He answered himself. "When marriages were arranged and the bride was less than willing to enter the house of her contracted husband, he simply would Body-Bind her and carry her into his humble abode."

"Pleasant," she said. From the little she could see, there was nothing humble about this abode.

"Do you know why I carried you over the threshold, Granger?" Again, he answered himself. "When the pureblood lines began to get diluted, spells were cast to prevent heirs from bringing home Muggle-born or half-blood brides, but they can be overridden if you're carried into house. I'm the first Malfoy to have ever done this."

There was silence for a moment as they both reflected on the magnitude of this.

"Well, I would call that progress, wouldn't you, Malfoy?"

He let out a laugh, and the tension dissipated. From nearly 30 feet away, the soft glow of wandlight seeped through the darkness, eventually reaching her. Draco held his wand aloft, waiting for her.

"Is this all the light you can afford?" Hermione sniffed as she walked toward him.

"Any more light and they'll be wondering why I'm giving you a tour instead of hauling you straight to the master bedroom."

Without allowing her to reply, Draco began leading her up the grand staircase that dominated the center of the hall.

"The ground floor is for large-scale entertainment: dining room, ballroom, salons and parlors of varying sizes." Without pausing, he continued to the second floor, choosing the right-hand side of the staircase that branched into two at the landing. "The second floor has the guest bedrooms, my office, the library, conservatory, just about any room for any task you can come up with."

There was no boast in his voice as he listed the amenities of Malfoy Manor. He sounded like a bored, disinterested tour guide. He paused on the landing halfway up to the third floor, where the two staircases combined into one once more, and knocked thrice on one of the intricately carved wood panels that made up the walls. A golden door handle appeared. Draco pulled at it, and Hermione found herself looking into a sprawling, immaculate greenhouse full of exotic and endangered plant species.

"There are all sorts of shortcuts scattered throughout the Manor," he informed her, closing the secret door. The handle disappeared as soon as it was shut. "Most reveal themselves with a few knocks. You'll soon figure out where they all are."

They were at the top of the third-floor staircase. Instead of branching off into two hallways like with the second floor, the only thing the third-floor staircase led to was a set of tall doors. Draco strode forward to open them.

"Gold and green does go together," Hermione said without thinking, looking at the tall, rococo doors, painted pale green with gold gilding, bathed in moonlight from the tall windows above and behind them.

"Yes, Granger, I suppose they do," he mused, as if he had never noticed the color scheme of his own home before. Then, after a slightly dramatic pause, he threw open the doors.

Hermione stepped into a large, moonlit chamber, lavishly decorated in the same rococo style as its ostentatious doors. Though everything looked silver in the moonlight streaming through the large windows on one side of the room, she could detect hints of a dark green on the furniture, pastel green on the walls.

She made her way to the windows, the train of her dress rustling gently over the thick white carpet, and looked out onto the back lawns of Malfoy Manor. It was such a clear night it seemed she could see for miles. The peacefulness of the grounds appeared imperturbable. Directly below was a beautifully kept garden that melted into a lush, green lawn that was almost all shadows, caused by trees and the dips and rises of the land. In the distance, the waters of a pond or small lake rippled with the breeze.

"We're on the third floor of the Manor, our private rooms," Draco said. "This is our common room. Your rooms are to the left, through that door."

She frowned, unsure if she'd heard correctly. "No master bedroom to share?"

Draco smirked. "That would be one more floor above us, accessible through both our dressing rooms. And you're quite welcome to share it with me, Granger." He frowned. "Though I suppose I'll have to make sure there are no wards in place on the bed against Mudbloods," he added thoughtfully.

"And I will love and cherish you all the days of my life, as well," she said sarcastically.

"Is that really what Muggles say when they get married?" he said derisively. "Who in the world could promise that?"

"They don't use the Unbreakable Vow to marry one another," she reminded him.

"And that makes it better?" he challenged. "We never use the word 'love', Granger, but at least the threat of dying ensures no one gets married without at least thinking it through."

He had a point, Hermione conceded.

_Do you, Hermione Granger, take Draco Malfoy as your magically wedded husband, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, for as long as you both shall live?_ ... _I _love_ her_ ... _We never use the word 'love', Granger_ ... _Just promise me that when this is all over and done with, we'll get married ... a house in the country_ ... _Not exactly your dream home, is it, Granger_?

He had joined her at the window and was staring out at the land owned by his family for nearly a thousand years. "Black and Malfoy, two pureblood lines that end here with you tonight, Granger."

"What a waste," she said, and she half meant it.

"A waste?" Draco repeated. "This marriage may be a lot of things, but it is certainly not a waste. It's a marriage of true convenience."

"For who?" She looked at him incredulously. "Voldemort? You?"

"Yes," he admitted, unabashedly. "But then again, _you_ never looked like you really wanted to marry Weasley."

Well, that was the truth wasn't it? So why did his saying it aloud startle her so much?

Hermione stared at him. Even in the moonlit room, he still managed to stand in shadow. The moonlight turned his pale features and white-blond hair into the same silvery grey so that it looked like a marble statue stood before her rather than a living, breathing person. The grey eyes were marble to begin with. The moonlight just slid off of his silken robes as if it did not even dare rest on him.

The only thing that the moonlight dared touch with an almost mocking glitter was the wedding ring on his left hand. The way it glinted in the moonlight was almost blinding. Whoever knew that silvery moonlight could make gold shine like that?

Unconsciously, she raised her left hand and turned it so that the gold band on her ring finger glittered in the same way. Their reflections in the window stared back at her, a marble wife to match a marble groom. She lifted a satin-covered hand to touch her face, half expecting to feel stone-cold marble instead of skin. She was as pale as he was in the moonlight. Even her brown eyes looked like they had been carved out of stone.

The thought made her laugh.

She barely recognized the sound escaping her lips as laughter, at least not the kind of laughter she used to know. It was mirthless and irrational, a manifestation of hysteria, and she could not stop. Everything was striking her as hilarious. The way she had gone to the Order like she was some sort of saint, the way she knelt before Voldemort with Draco's hands clasped around her own, the way his hand had guided hers as they cut their wedding cake!

She was painfully aware that Draco was staring at her, calmly observing her with that indifferent yet piercing gaze of his. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle the laughter.

Completely unfazed, Draco turned away from her and stared once more out onto grounds, every bit the lord of the manor. At length, he sighed.

"Do try to get a hold of yourself, Granger."

It was merely a suggestion, unaccompanied by contempt or condescension, and it had the sobering effect he desired. With a shuddering gasp, her laughter subsided, and she was left completely breathless, as if she had run miles. She slowly sank to the ground, her dress ballooning all around her and blending in with the immaculate carpet.

"Don't you know why I chose you for all this?" he asked again, softly. "The answer's even more simple than all that talk about beliefs and absolutes, good and evil. I chose you because you're the only one who can do it."

"And you're the only one who sees it," she realized.

She accepted the hand he held out toward her and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Her hand still firmly in his grasp, he gestured toward their reflection.

"No one believes that this can work, Granger, but it will. Tomorrow, we start our duties as Master and Madam Malfoy. From now on, it will be luncheons and teas during the day, balls in the evening, meetings with Voldemort, and skirmishes with the Order on the side. Neither of us can handle all this alone, but together..."

Turning away from the window, she looked up at him instead. From her angle, the hard line of his jaw looked more like the personification of determination instead of coldness. Slowly, she relaxed the hold that she had on his hand, realizing only then how tightly she had been holding it, but she did not let go.

"Yes, together," she agreed.

They stared at one another for a few seconds? Minutes? Hours? Suddenly, Hermione felt cold. Then she realized it was only Draco letting go of her hand.

"Goodnight, Draco," she whispered.

"Goodnight—"

But she was already gone from the room, the train of her wedding dress just whipping out of sight through the doors that led to her rooms. Draco sighed and turned toward his wing of the house, strolling unhurriedly to the doors that led to his private quarters and muttering to no one in particular, with only the moon as his witness.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

Hermione burst into a hallway lined with tall ceiling-to-floor windows on one side and spindly tables heaped with decorative figures on the other. Keeping her eyes firmly averted from the windows, she hurried down the hall as if she could outrun the white figure that she could see gliding on the glass panes out of the corner of her eye.

The door at the end of the hall sprung open for her even before she had reached it, but she stopped dead in her tracks once through its threshold. For a moment she thought there was someone else already in the room, the ghost of a blushing bride haunting her. It took a moment more to realize that she was staring at her own reflection yet again, only this time it was coming from a spotless mirror in the corner of what appeared to be an antechamber to her bedroom.

Fumbling around in the dark, Hermione weaved her way past unidentified pieces of furniture and found herself in a bedroom at last. A large canopied bed stood on a slightly raised platform, and onto this she gratefully sank. The bed was soft to the point of impracticality, and the mattress rose up around her as if threatening to close in over her body. She wished it would.

She felt nothing like a marble statue now. As she stared up at the pale green hangings that failed to disgust or even displease her, Hermione tried to calm her racing heart, quiet the blood pounding in her ears. She felt ... _alive_. Draco Malfoy was involved somehow, and even that wasn't as displeasing as it ought to have been.

After some time had passed, she got up from the bed with some difficulty and began to explore. A room that could have passed for the master bedroom in any other house was in fact only her dressing room—and a very well stocked dressing room at that, thanks to additional orders from Madam Malkin she hadn't known Draco had placed.

She changed out of her wedding dress and into a mint green nightgown of such fine silk it was almost sinfully smooth. She removed the ridiculous amount of makeup that had been pasted onto her face and eyed the bed, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Grabbing a dressing gown and a pair of slippers (both also mint green), she went back into the window-lined hallway that connected her private chambers to the common room that she and Draco shared. In between the spindly tables were doors. She peered into each one and found that they led to various rooms on different floors of the house, some the shortcuts Draco had told her about.

She was only one door away from the common room. She strained her ears, wondering if Draco was still in there, when she realized the door she was about to close led into a two-story library with a domed ceiling and more books than she had seen in a long, long time. All other thoughts flew out of her head as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

* * *

"Send word to Madam Malfoy that breakfast is being served," Draco ordered as he strode into their private dining room and took his place on one side of the table. "And inform her that we are expecting guests for tea this afternoon."

"Ritzy called Madam ten minutes ago," the house-elf informed him. "Madam wasn't in her chambers."

Draco hesitated before standing, "Keep everything warm, and there will be hell to pay if that coffee isn't stronger by the time I return."

He swept through the nearest door and was in their common room within a second. He opened the door to her hall and saw that another house-elf was already doing the daily cleaning in her bedroom. The door directly to his left, however, caught his attention. If he knew his house at all, then this door that led to the library.

And if he knew Granger...

The door opened without a sound. He took a few steps into the room and looked down from the second floor balcony. He spied Hermione curled up in what had been his favorite armchair when he still had time to spare in the family library. She was so intent on reading the large volume in her hands that she did not notice his intrusion.

Quietly, he slipped back out. At the sight of Hermione looking more like the girl he had hated at Hogwarts than the formidable Death Eater who was now his wife, Draco almost smiled. Almost.

Draco sat down again at the dining table for a solitary meal. Ritzy came out with a freshly brewed pot of the strong coffee he had ordered, but he waved her away.

"Send a tray of food to the library for Madam Malfoy and send the coffee as well," he commanded as he unfolded the silk napkin arranged in the shape of an 'M' on his plate with a flick of his wrist. "When you've finished, send word to the Zabinis that tea is canceled for this afternoon. I'll sign the note myself."

Ritzy bowed deeply before turning away and fulfilling her master's commands.


	12. Refute

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 12: Refute**

_Refute: Demonstrate that a strategy, move, or opening is not as good as previously thought._

Sunday, October 12, 2003-Monday, October 13, 2003

* * *

It was near midday several weeks later when Hermione gingerly crept to the library, settled herself down on a couch, and placed a cool cloth on her forehead in an attempt to assuage the vicious pounding of her head. Just when she was getting some relief, the door opened, hitting the side of the nearest bookshelf with a loud bang.

"Strong coffee, Headache Antidote, and for goodness sake don't let that door make a sound when you leave!" Hermione ordered, thinking it was a house-elf.

Instead of leaving, the footsteps (much heavier and louder than they should have been) approached, and Hermione barely had time to whip the cloth off her head before a glass of amber liquid was placed in her hand. Draco carelessly flicked his wand at the door, which shut with another bang before she could object. She threw a glance heavenward before looking down at the glass in her hand.

"Sunday. The help's day off," he reminded her as he settled himself in the armchair opposite her sofa and idly picked up a book. "It's the Headache Antidote you so kindly asked for, the most popular treatment for the hungover." He scoffed, "Surely, _you_—"

"I know what it is, Malfoy," Hermione sighed, tipping the entire contents down her throat. Her shoulder and neck muscles instantly relaxed as the headache disappeared. She lay back with a sigh and re-placed the cloth on her head.

Draco snapped the book shut. "You're not planning on making these excursions with Pansy nightly occurrences, are you?" he asked, abandoning all pretense.

"I thought you, of all people, would encourage them," she said sharply.

"I do. Congratulations on winning Pansy's superficial affection. I just hope you understand that no matter how much of a 'friendship' you forge with Pansy and her entourage, it will all go to waste if you let something slip when you're wasted."

Hermione simmered beneath the cool cloth for a moment before she whipped it off again and sat up. "You know, Malfoy, I'm not a complete idiot, and I can hold my liquor far better than you give me credit for. I'm perfectly aware that Pansy and I are as good friends as Harry and Voldemort are. That's why I can't understand why she keeps inviting me to things when she so obviously hates me. If I didn't know better, I would think she's trying to find out why I'm suddenly loyal to the Dark Lord. But she's too petty for that."

"You're right, Pansy is petty. Evil, but in a different way than the other Death Eaters. She doesn't hate you because you're in Voldemort's favor, she hates you because..." Draco seemed suddenly interested in a small tear in the leather of his chair. "... you see, Pansy expected to marry me."

This did not surprise Hermione. It had been apparent at school that Pansy and Draco were something of an item.

"We'd been unofficially betrothed since we were three. Our mothers were inseparable, and my father could find nothing objectionable about the Parkinsons. Their blood is not as pure as ours, of course, but they had enough connections to the other old families to make it nearly so. And I was more indifferent than against it.

"But then my father fell out of favor, and the Parkinsons distanced themselves, putting off the official announcement of our betrothal. Then I went into hiding after ... after our sixth year. And by the time I returned, Pansy had married Blaise. Financial problems on her family's part, I heard." He shrugged. "It worked out for the best. Being married to Pansy only would have complicated matters, working for the Order."

"You know, it's sad," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Pansy and all those other silly girls spend their nights drowning themselves in drink and running from party to party. But really, they're running from the fear of staying in one place too long, being swallowed by the boredom that threatens every minute of their existence. They try putting off the cold, empty lives they wake up to in the morning by filling every second with parties and intrigue and affairs."

Draco gave her a hard look. "Listen, Granger, I know you're committing yourself completely to this masquerade, but there is a fine line between pretending to live it and actually living it. You think you're putting the blindfold on everyone else, but you're actually placing it over your own eyes."

He was only half speaking to her. The slight frown on his face, the reflective tone of his voice—he was talking about himself, too, she realized.

Draco flicked his wand at the marble chess table that stood across the room and levitated it towards them. The pieces clutched at the board in terror, let out a sigh of relief when Draco let the board come to rest between himself and Hermione, and sent murderous looks toward their owner.

Hermione saw that white pieces were lined up on her side of the board. She sat up to see Draco more clearly.

"Don't you play?" he asked. He frowned, "It's a logic game, Granger. I thought you, of all people—"

"Er, no, not really," she confessed. "Ron's always—"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, Weasley, the master strategist. Well? White moves first, doesn't it?"

"What's this all about, Malfoy?" She hated the confusion and trepidation in her voice.

"Just play, Granger," he said with a hint of exasperation. "Does everything need to have a reason with you?"

"It usually does with you." When she continued to stare incomprehensibly down at the board, Draco opened his mouth again, but she interrupted. "Queenside knight to C-3."

A shadow of a smirk crossed his face. "Queenside pawn to D-5."

The smirk realized itself fully on Hermione's face. "Queenside knight to D-5."

"Queen to D-5." Her smile vanished. She looked up and saw Draco looking at her intently.

"Just because Weasley always keeps his queen on the sideline doesn't mean everyone does," he said. "Chess is a metaphor for life, Granger."

"That's giving it rather a lot of responsibility, isn't it?" she asked.

He did not answer. "Your move."

"Kingside pawn to E-3."

"Queen to D-2," Draco said.

A quizzical raise of her eyebrow indicated she was surprised he was sending his queen so deep into enemy territory where any of three pieces—her queen, her king, or her queenside bishop—could take the piece. Deciding to play his game against him, she sent in her queen.

"Queen to D-2."

With a satisfied smile, Hermione crossed her arms and sat back, waiting to hear the grinding scrape of stone as her queen moved forward, the vicious swipe of her own queen, and the dull thud of the pieces of Draco's queen falling on the board. When it did not come, her eyes shot back to the board.

There were two black queens.

"What's this, Malfoy?" she asked. "Cheating at chess? Cheating at life, then?"

He almost smiled. Almost. "Isn't that what we've been doing all these years? No, I just wanted you to see. If you're the queen, Hermione, you have to change your color to fit in. That's the whole point of what we're doing here. The trouble is that you _become_ someone else, just like your queen here. Once its color changed, it no longer listened to you."

"Don't you trust me, Draco?" she demanded. "I trust _you_. I agreed to your plan, I've put my life in your hands—"

"Of course I trust you," he said. "You're the only one I trust."

They stared at each other with an odd mixture of awkwardness, defiance, confusion, and respect.

"How did you know I was going to play my queen, and not the king or the bishop?"

Even to her ears it sounded like a sad attempt to change the subject. She idly traced the edge of the board with her finger, anything to keep from looking at him. Draco decided to put her out of her misery.

"Because you wanted to play my game against me. Unadvisable, but that's exactly what we're doing with Voldemort. We're deep into enemy territory, Hermione. One false move, and the game is lost. Besides, you're the queen. You don't want to be sidelined anymore." He stood. "The photographer is coming at four, and Madam Malkin will be here at three to arrange your wardrobe."

"Right," she said, fumbling for something to say. "Draco, wait! I..." He stopped, one hand on the doorknob. "I... Thanks, Draco. For everything."

He raised his hand as if to wave away her thanks and slipped out the door. For Hermione, his gesture was more of a 'you're welcome' than if he had said the words.

* * *

The door of Grimmauld Place banged open, waking Mrs. Black and causing everyone in the kitchen to jump. Hands shot to wands faster than the blink of an eye.

"Hermione's on the front page of every goddamn paper and magazine in the wizarding world," Ron announced, throwing down a pile of papers on the kitchen table.

Everyone crowded around to look. On the front of the _Daily Prophet_ was a photograph of Hermione and Draco arriving at Blaise and Pansy Zabini's party the previous night. The cover of _Witch Weekly_ was only of Hermione. Unlike the _Prophet's_ picture, this one was posed for.

Ron picked up the magazine and rifled through the pages until he got to the article on Hermione. Disregarding the words entirely, he flipped through the spread. In pictures that took up entire pages, she reclined on a green plush sofa while in a white dress, she strolled in a garden of magnificent white roses while dressed in blue, she posed halfway down a marble staircase in a gown of green.

"He's put her on _display_," Ron scorned in disgust. "Like an advertisement, she's out there for everyone to see."

"_That's_ what's bothering you?" Ginny snapped, much to everyone's surprise. "You caged her, Ron!" Turning back to the magazine, she added softly, "We all did. Can't you all see how alive she looks? Can't you see it in her eyes?"

They all took a closer look. Though a few halfheartedly tried to deny it, Harry saw it. He lay his hand on Ginny's shoulder as they looked over the pictures again, one by one, to confirm what she had said. The light shining in Hermione's eyes was one that could not be replicated by any camera's flash. Ginny turned one more page past the staircase photo.

There was a picture of Draco and Hermione in a vast, high-ceilinged drawing room in Malfoy Manor. They were standing in front of a grand window, silhouettes against the light streaming through the curtains. They were standing a couple of feet away from each other, Draco leaning languidly against the wall, Hermione peering out the window. Then, the figures in the picture shifted. Draco held out his hand toward her. Without looking, she reached back and placed her hand in his.

With one sweep of his hand, Ron sent _Witch Weekly_ flying from the table.

"_That's_ why she's not with me," he pronounced. "_Him_. He wanted her, and now he has her, away from us."

Despite the glaring looks Ron was giving her, Ginny carefully picked up the magazine from the floor and placed it back onto the table, smoothing the pages. The picture of Hermione on the cover smiled slightly and angled her head to the left, exposing a white cheek to better advantage.

"I don't think it's Malfoy himself, Ron," Harry said frankly, watching Hermione turn her head to several different angles, smiling tolerantly at the photographer between takes. "But I think it's what Malfoy offers her."

"Hermione never seemed the superficial, material type, Harry," Kingsley noted.

"I'm not talking about dresses and gold," Harry said at once. "We _did_ cage Hermione. We thought we were doing it for her own good, but we never gave a thought about what it must have done to her all these years. We never even brought a book for her to read!" He raked a hand through his hair in despair at the very thought. "And now she's out there, free to come and go as she pleases without anyone to stop her, free to twist all those people around her finger." He smiled slightly. "Hermione _can_ be a very manipulative person when she tries. Freedom, it's what Malfoy's giving her."

"You mean _how_ Malfoy's giving it to her?"

Harry slammed his hand down on the table, startling them all. "Don't you _dare_ speak about Hermione like that! She is out there, risking her life every minute of every day just so she can give us more time to defeat Voldemort. Stop being so selfish, Ron. It's a miracle if she benefits in any way from this. This war stopped revolving around one person a long time ago, and that person was never you."

"No, it's always revolved around you!" Ron shot back, abashed but unwilling to show it. "Why don't you hurry up and finish this thing before she has to _die_ to give you more time, like so many other people?"

"_Ron!_" Ginny yelled. Harry had gone very pale._  
_

A look of dismay came over Ron's face as he realized what he had just said. "I-I didn't mean that, Harry. I-I don't know what I was saying."

"I know, Ron," Harry said quietly. "I understand."

"I'm sorry." Ron looked absolutely miserable. "I'm ... going to take guard duty over from Remus," he muttered. "Clear my head a bit."

Ginny caught his arm before he could leave. She looked up at him beseechingly, looking more like his little sister than she had in years. He smiled tightly and squeezed her hand with his much larger one.

"One of these days, we can try to find a way to break their Vows, but until then we need to focus all of our energy into finding the something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's and defeating Voldemort. Ron, we need to start thinking up of battle strategies for the end, all right?"

"Right," Ron said noncommittally. Harry reached over and placed his hand on Ron's shoulder, forced Ron to look him in the eye. "Right," the redhead said more firmly. "Of course."

"Good. We're not beaten yet, not by a long shot." Harry's eyes shone fiercely for a moment. "And I'll be damned if someone else, if _anyone_ else dies for me."


	13. Equalize

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 13: Equalize**

_Equalize: To create a position where the players have equal chances of winning._

Friday, October 31, 2003

* * *

"Enter."

Hermione did as she was told. At the end of the ballroom stood Voldemort. With a wave of his white, bony hand, a handful of Death Eaters, who were reporting to him, fell silent at her entrance.

"Why do you stand there like tongue-less half-wits?" Voldemort demanded. With another sweeping gesture, the glasses they held shattered in their hands, leaving their robes wet and their hands cut and bleeding. "Pay your respects to Madam Malfoy and leave!"

The longtime Death Eaters tipped their heads to Hermione in the pureblood fashion as they filed out, murmuring their greetings and telling her how much they looked forward to her and Draco's Halloween ball that night. Bellatrix Lestrange, the last to leave, shot a look of pure venom at Hermione before deliberately brushing past, whipping the hem of her robe around Hermione violently. Ignoring the older woman's rudeness, Hermione shook the wrinkles out of her own robes and moved toward Voldemort. Angry at being disregarded completely, Bellatrix stalked towards the door.

"Bella," Voldemort spoke softly.

Bellatrix froze in her tracks. Her fellow Death Eaters hurried on out the door.

"Turn around, Bella."

Bellatrix slowly did as she was told. She was clearly torn between the irrational reverence she had for Voldemort and the utter loathing she had for Hermione.

"I believe I told you to show your respects to Madam Malfoy."

"But, my lord!" she exclaimed, her hate for Hermione winning out. "She is a young, upstart Mudblood! I have faithfully served by your side for 25 years, longer than this girl has been alive! I, a pureblood, one of your first, bow down to a _her?!_ It is too humiliating, my lord!"

"I believe humility is what you greatly lack, Bella. I have been far too lenient with you, and it is time you remembered your place. From now on, you will see Madam Malfoy not as a Mudblood but as the current mistress of a long and unbroken line of purebloods. Bow to her as her station requires."

Jerkily, Bellatrix's head lowered as Voldemort forced her spine to curve. The sobs that escaped her lips, half pain and half wretchedness, were piteous to hear. For Hermione, it seemed almost impossible that this wreck of a person had ruined, tortured, and ended so many lives. Voldemort released his hold over her, and she collapsed in complete hysterics on the floor.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Bella. Never refuse anything I ask of you. Have you forgotten whom you serve?"

"No, my lord," she blubbered. "I am your most loyal servant—"

"Say 'good day' to Madam Malfoy and be on your way," Voldemort interrupted, bored.

"Good day, Madam Malfoy," Bellatrix said through gritted teeth, sounding as if each word was causing her excruciating pain.

"Good day, Madam Lestrange," Hermione said.

Forgetting for a moment the punishment she had just received, Bellatrix scowled at the pity in Hermione's tone. A spasm of fear contorted her features as she threw a glance over her shoulder at Voldemort before she swept off.

As soon as Bellatrix had left the room, Hermione advanced to where Voldemort stood and bowed before him until he took her hand into his own cold, lifeless hands and brought her to her feet.

"So, my dear Madam Malfoy, how has my society been treating you?"

"Excellently, my lord, thanks to you."

Voldemort accepted her gratitude with a slight nod of his head. He drifted to the fireplace at the end of the room, above which hung a mirror. He began to levitate so that he could look into it. Draco had warned her of this peculiar habit of Voldemort's, but it did not make seeing it any less shocking.

Voldemort whirled around suddenly, still in the air. "Look at me!"

There was no denying him. She felt his presence invade her mind and his power overwhelm her. Luckily, Draco had prepared her for Voldemort's Legillimancy by giving her his own memories: the halls of Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and other foreign wizarding schools that Draco had visited as a young boy. The faces of great wizards and witches that had been over to Malfoy Manor for tea years ago were reproduced in her mind. All to convince Voldemort that she had spent the last three years seeking out knowledge and cultivating her power instead of stuck in Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The only truth in these memories was her emotion. She loosed all the frustration and anger she felt towards the Order and had kept bottled up inside for years.

Then quite suddenly, Voldemort was standing on the floor by the fireplace, she was standing in the middle of the room, and they were separate and unconnected. Voldemort steadied himself on the mantlepiece

"Your mind is brilliant." Voldemort looked exhilarated. "Never have I had the pleasure of visiting one as complicated and developed as your own. We are alike, you and I."

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine, but she bowed, though she felt like she did not have complete control over her limbs after such a strong mental attack.

"My dear," Voldemort spoke, his voice quite near to her. His cold fingers encircled her own as he lifted her out of her bow. "The dawn of your revenge approaches, my queen."

"I look forward to it with pleasure, my lord."

* * *

"How'd tea with Voldemort go?" Draco asked, as soon as she materialized before him. He didn't look up from the stack of papers on his desk.

"Oh, wonderfully," she said, only half lying.

His quill paused in midair. Draco looked up and took in her disheveled appearance.

"What the hell did he do to you?" He frowned.

"It worked," she said, still slightly breathless. "The memories, he thought they were mine. He thought I'd been experimenting with magic all these years."

"Of course he did," Draco said, though for someone who had been so certain of success, he looked rather relieved. "Well done, Granger. Though do sit down, you look as if you're about to fall over."

She ignored him and instead began pacing agitatedly in front of his desk. "I think I've found it, Malfoy, but how could we be sure? There's someone always there, and there's no way we could check it without Voldemort knowing."

"What are you talking about?"

She stopped moving and looked at him curiously. "Why did it never occur to you?"

Draco rolled his eyes and returned to his paperwork. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're on about."

"The last Horcrux." Hermione watched with supreme satisfaction as the quill dropped from his hand, splattering the mahogany wood with ink. "I think it's the mirror hanging in the ballroom."

"The mirror," he repeated slowly.

"Harry found this mirror once, at Hogwarts," Hermione explained, pacing once more. "It was called the Mirror of Erised. Instead of your reflection, it shows you your deepest, most desperate desires. Wouldn't it just be like him to turn something like that into a Horcrux?"

"But Potter said it would be something of Gryffindor's or Ravenclaw's. And it's not exactly a portable little trophy, is it?"

"Harry could be wrong," Hermione conceded.

Draco snorted. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Either way, we've got to tell the Order immediately."

"Because they gave us the same consideration when they found the last one?"

The strange expression on her face—excitement, Draco realized—faded away. She frowned. "Just because they keep one Horcrux secret from us doesn't mean we get to do the same. You're above such pettiness, Malfoy. We both are."

"Are we?"

They stared at each for a hard moment. At length, Draco sighed. "It's been more than a month since we paid our lovely friends a visit. Perhaps it is time we dropped by to say hello—"

His left arm twitched slightly, the only outward sign that his Mark had burned.

"Though it seems they will have to wait. The Dark Lord calls."

Perfectly calm, he stood, straightened his suit, and swept his robes onto his shoulders.

"Try to look the part of Madam Malfoy," he requested, nodding toward her rumpled robes. "There's a lovely green dress that were just arrived for you this morning. The orange one you'd picked out for the ball was hideous. And keep wearing that tiara, Granger. I'd love to see their faces when you waltz in wearing that."

"Malfoy..." Hermione didn't know what she was going to say. The corners of Draco's mouth twitched upward, as if he knew.

"See you in a bit, Granger." He Disapparated as usual, without a sound.

* * *

Hermione changed out of her rumpled clothes and into the set of emerald dress robes Madam Malkin had sent over. It _was _a lovely shade of green, she had to admit.

She didn't know how long she sat at her vanity, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror, trying to come up with some way they could examine Voldemort's mirror properly. They were almost there. Almost.

"I was only joking about the robes," Draco spoke from her doorway, startling her. "The orange wasn't that hideous."

She recovered quickly. "You, joke? No, it was quite an awful shade," she admitted. "This green really sets off the silver in the tiara," Hermione said, casting a critical eye at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes met his in the mirror of her vanity, desperately seeking reassurance.

He reached toward the tiara, and for one wild moment she thought he was going to rip it out, but he merely straightened it.

"Voldemort didn't give you a matching crown or anything, did he?"

"No, he just thanked me again for bringing you to him," Draco said, a strange look on his face.

"How ... kind?" she said unsurely, selecting a perfume bottle from the dozens on her desk.

"And my reward is leading an attack tonight."

Her eyes widened. "Where?"

When Draco told her where, the perfume bottle she held fell from her suddenly limp hands. He caught it deftly before it landed on the floor and setting it safely on her vanity.

"Voldemort knows Harry well," she said weakly.

"He wants you by my side," Draco said, strolling over to her window and looking out at the autumn landscape. All the green had given way to the fiery colors of fall

"But I thought Voldemort didn't dare—"

"Voldemort has never dared to meddle with the magic in its walls, but I think he's gotten a little more daring, thanks to you," Draco said. "He wants to start educating a new generation of Death Eaters. Dumbledore's been dead for more than six years. It's time to bring Hogwarts under his rule. So that's another bit of lovely news to give Potter and company tonight. Are you ready?" He looked pointedly at her hands.

Hermione followed his gaze and realized she had forgotten her gloves. The Dark Mark was clearly visible on her forearm. Draco looked as if he would have dearly liked to say something, but he merely handed her a pair of fine silk gloves that matched her robes. She slipped them on as he conjured up two glasses of champagne.

"It's a bit too early to celebrate anything, but tackling the Dark Lord and the Order in the same day does warrant some nerve-settling."

"You have nerves, Malfoy? How ... human of you," Hermione said, smiling in spite of herself.

"I wasn't talking about myself, Granger. You're the one that's shaking like a leaf."

Hermione realized that he was right but would not give him the satisfaction of admitting it. She took a deep breath, raised her glass, and looked at him expectantly.

"We haven't won yet, not by a long shot. But—"

"What kind of a toast is that? I certainly hope you've got a better one planned for dinner tonight."

"Oh, just drink, Granger."

As soon as Hermione had finished her glass, it disappeared, and she and Draco were Apparating to Grimmauld Place.


	14. Overextended

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 14: Overextended**

_Overextended: A position where a player has moved a piece or group of pieces (usually pawns) away from the rest in such a way that they are too difficult to defend._

Friday, October 31, 2003

* * *

Hermione felt Draco release her wrist halfway through their Apparition, leaving her to materialize on her own. When her feet landed on solid ground, she turned to lecture him rather angrily about the dangers of splinching and realized a few things very quickly:

She was standing in the middle of the Grimmauld Place kitchen, it was suppertime, and Draco was nowhere in sight. As seven spoons fell into seven bowls with a wet clatter, Hermione closed her eyes slowly, damning Draco to hell.

"Er, trick or treat?" she asked uncertainly.

"Bloody hell," Harry swore. He pocketed his wand and ran a hand through his hair. "Has Malfoy's penchant for dramatic entrances rubbed off on you?"

"I suppose it was in the marriage contract," she said dryly.

"Come here," he said gruffly, pulling her into a hug. "Marriage contracts aren't the way to start a conversation with someone you haven't seen in more than a month."

Greetings were exchanged all around, though there was a definite tension when it came to Ron. With a rather envious glance at Hermione's dress and gloves, Ginny asked her to sit down and have some supper. Hermione politely declined, using the fraction-of-an-inch shake of the head as a reflex. The younger witch's eyebrows flew up in surprise, and everyone's manner visibly cooled.

Hermione realized her mistake several seconds too late. Her attention had been diverted by some moving shadows in the kitchen doorway. Coward, skulking in the shadows as usual.

"I trust Malfoy's been behaving himself?" Tonks asked.

"He has," Hermione said fairly. "But he really doesn't have an opportunity to misbehave. He works most of the day."

"He _works_," Ron repeated suspiciously. "Don't tell me Malfoy's got a desk job at the Ministry."

"No, he works from his office at the Manor. Mostly. It's just business—overseeing the family's investments, things concerning the Malfoy estate."

"Have you gotten a closer look at his documents?" Lupin asked. "What may look like an innocent report on his property holdings could be something else entirely. A coded message or—"

"I thought Malfoy was on our side, Remus?" Hermione asked, a touch of sharpness in her voice.

The Order exchanged knowing looks, as if Hermione's naïveté was to be expected, and Hermione felt anger flash through her. She threw a glance in the direction of the kitchen doorway, a glance that Draco caught but did not fully understand. A warning, perhaps? An apology?

"Malfoy can be very persuasive," Tonks began, though she looked uncomfortable. "We can't put our trust in him entirely. He's being very secretive. He—"

"—has been extremely attentive," Hermione interrupted, stretching the truth. "He whips up Headache Antidote whenever I need it and brings food up to the library when I get lost reading. He's never too far from me when we're at some function. In fact, he's always nearby with a fresh glass of champagne."

Draco knew the underlying hint of sarcasm was meant for his ears only. She was only saying these things to upset the Order. Commanding someone to bring her breakfast was not the same as bringing it up himself, and the last time he had personally brewed Headache Antidote was in his fourth year at Hogwarts.

"So he's taking care of you?" Harry clarified. "Looking out for you, I mean," he amended under the quick glances thrown at him.

"Yes. Very well, I might add."

"We don't trust Malfoy," Ginny spoke up abruptly. "It didn't scream honesty when he _forgot_ to tell us he was going to propose to you, _minutes_ before he actually did it. If he can play cruel jokes out of spite or just to get a rise out of us, then what else could he be capable of."

"Hermione, he hasn't decided what side he's loyal to," Lupin added. "If he's loyal to any side other than his own. You must keep an eye on him."

Hermione bristled. "I can't sit around pressing my ear against every door or peering through the keyhole every time he has someone over on 'business.' I have obligations—"

"Oh, we humbly apologize, _Madam Malfoy_," Ron said sarcastically, executing a ridiculous bow. "If working for the Order gets in the way of your other _obligations_—"

"Shut it, Ron," Harry said very quietly. To Hermione, he said, "Don't you think his attentiveness to you could simply be a cover to blind you to anything he might be hiding, Hermione?"

"He's a Malfoy. He's a Death Eater. Of course he's hiding something," Ron said.

"Ron, I'm a Malfoy and I'm ... pretending to follow Voldemort as well," Hermione said softly. "Does that mean _I'm_ hiding something?"

The shadow in the doorway moved restlessly. Hermione and Draco both knew she had come close to revealing that she was a Marked Death Eater as well.

"You could be," Moody grunted. "Can't be sure anymore, can we?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Ron in askance.

"Of-of course not," Ron stuttered sullenly. "I only meant... This is Malfoy we're talking about, not you."

"Just stay informed about what he is doing, Hermione," Kingsley said in his deep, reassuring voice.

"You're right, of course," Hermione agreed, suddenly bored with the conversation but unable to resist taking one last dig at the Order. "I'll get Draco to tell me more about what he's up to, in the interest of being his wife, of course. We always get ready together in the evening. It will be the perfect time to talk. Nobody disturbs us then."

There was a general rustle as the Order made to exchange knowing glances again but restrained themselves.

"It would be a good idea to also keep an eye and an ear open for whatever Malfoy is doing, without his knowing," Lupin suggested delicately. "We can't depend wholly on Malfoy for information, Hermione. If we're going to keep allowing you to stay at Malfoy Manor—"

Hermione's countenance had gone completely frigid. "'_Allowing_'," she repeated slowly. "I see..."

"I'm sure," Tonks began hurriedly, "what Remus means—"

"Wait, did you say you and Malfoy _dress_ together?" Ron said suddenly, unaware of anything else.

"It's tradition that couples dress to match," Hermione said innocently.

"Couldn't you—just—_tell_ each other?"

"Color's not the only factor. There's the style and design of the clothes, as well as the material. They simply have to _go_ together, and we can hardly coordinate if we're in opposite wings of the Manor."

As she continued spewing out pureblood etiquette, seven pairs of eyebrows rose in complete disbelief, as if everything she was saying was a complete joke.

"Listen, Hermione," Harry broke in, trying to prevent anyone else from making a remark. "Just play it smart." Draco nearly laughed out loud. How rich of Potter to advise Hermione Granger to be _smart_. "Try to keep a lookout. The smallest hint could let us know what the last unknown Horcrux is."

Draco watched her closely. It was her chance to tell them about the mirror, her chance to be the better person, to forgive them for keeping the prophecy from her for all these years. It was her chance to prove to Draco that she believed her own words: Just because the Order had kept one Horcrux a secret didn't mean she and Draco had a right to do the same. From the complete stillness in the doorway, Hermione knew Draco was waiting for her to take her chance.

She let it slip by.

"I'll do my best, Harry," she promised. "I'll keep an eye on Draco."

Draco did not know if she had used his first name on purpose. Honestly, Hermione did not know herself and did not care that much, but the Order was a completely different story.

"Draco? _Draco?_"

"Yes, that is his name, isn't it?' Hermione said coolly. "It would be quite odd if I referred to my husband by the name I now share with him."

"What else do you share with him?" Ron asked in a voice of forced politeness, a twisted smile contorting his features. "First a house, now a dressing room. What's next, a bed? What exactly's going on behind the closed doors of Malfoy Manor, Hermione? Maybe you don't have to spy on him because you're there with him, pressed up against the wall, playing husband and—"

"How about playing chess?" Hermione interjected sharply.

"You play chess with Malfoy?" Harry asked, looking more alarmed at this revelation than he had at Ron's accusations.

Everyone had turned to gauge Ron's reaction. Chess was _his_.

"But you hate chess," Tonks objected softly.

"Don't tell us your ways of amusing yourselves are as innocent as playing chess," Ron said, still smiling awfully. He looked as if a knife was being twisted into him. "How many times have you played 'consummate the marriage'?

"How many times?" Hermione repeated, eyes wide. She bit her lip in thought and began counting on her fingers, brow furrowed in concentration. Ron had gone pale, knuckles white on the hand clutching the back of a chair. "You know," she said, "now that I've counted, I think it only takes _one_ time to consummate a marriage."

A reluctant grin crossed Harry's face, but the others did not see the humor in her statement at all. In the silence that followed, the clock struck the hour and Hermione looked at the time. Their guests would be arriving at the Manor in a half hour.

"Oh, do you have to get back to—what is it now?—'_Draco_'?" Ron mocked

"Actually, it's been 'Draco' for nearly 24 years," Draco's voice silkily sliced in.

He emerged from the shadows and came to stand close enough next to Hermione that their robes brushed against one another's. They glanced at one another with something almost like amusement. Almost. Ron's eyes narrowed so that they were barely slits.

"How long were you eavesdropping, boy?" Moody yelled, getting to his feet as if he were determined to duel the answer out of Draco.

"Long enough," he said.

"Then you know what we think of you, Malfoy," Harry said. It was not a question.

"Oh, you don't trust me?" Draco said in mock surprise. "I didn't need to eavesdrop to figure that out. It was the direction of conversation that caught my interest." He allowed his eyes to flick suggestively over Hermione.

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron ordered.

"Back to surnames, are we? Pity, I rather liked the way you said my name."

"Well, there you have it, Malfoy," Harry said, intervening. "We don't trust you. What have you to say about that?"

"Only this." His voice was low but commanded attention. "I, Draco Malfoy, took Hermione Granger as my magically wedded wife. And I promised to care for her in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, till death do us part."

The silence and tension in the room had reached an insurmountable level. Ron looked like he was going to be ill.

"Now, I don't know about you," Draco continued matter-of-factly, breaking the spell his words had wrought, "but I feel I'm rather obligated to honor that promise since my life quite literally depends on it."

"I wish there was something more than the Unbreakable Vow ensuring your loyalty, Malfoy." Harry said carefully.

"Man's life not worth enough for you, Potter?"

"Not yours," Ron interjected savagely.

"Oh, there is something else keeping me loyal, come to think of it," Draco said thoughtfully.

"Yes?" Ginny asked skeptically.

"Looking forward to the next time we play 'consummate the marriage'."

Ron advanced toward Draco, hands fumbling for his wand.

"Why you—!"

"Ron, honestly—" Hermione started.

"Shut up, Hermione!" Ron roared, rounding on her. "Who do you think you are now? We haven't seen you in a month! Funny how someone can change in that time, isn't it? It's like the Hermione Granger we knew died and was replaced by—"

"Hermione Malfoy?" she suggested innocently.

"No, I was going to say a filthy, little who—"

Draco's fist came in contact with Ron's face before he could finish the sentence. Ron landed at Harry's feet, but Harry made no effort to help Ron, whose nose was bleeding and obviously broken. Ginny rushed to her brother, saw the damage Draco had done, and turned to Draco, wand clenched in her fist.

"Don't you ever say anything like that again, Weasley," Draco said coldly. "Next time, it won't be just your nose that's broken." Ginny raised her wand threateningly. "And you're a fool to defend him," he told Ginny. "Brother or not, you know he's in the wrong."

Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but no words came.

"Hermione, I believe in you. I trust you," Harry said earnestly. "You're the brightest witch of our age."

"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said. She looked down at Ron's prostrate form unsympathetically. "And thank you, Ron, for finally showing me how you truly feel."

"I don't know what you've done to her, Malfoy," Ron snarled, his voice slightly muffled by the sleeve he was using to stem the bleeding. "I don't know what false promises you've made to make her believe you'll stand by her through everything! You know it's a lie, Malfoy! You wouldn't hesitate to leave her at Voldemort's mercy as soon as it's convenient for you!"

Draco ignored him. "The guests will be arriving any minute now," he said in a low voice to Hermione. "Last chance to tell them about the Horcrux and Hogwarts. Your choice."

"Get away from her, Malfoy!" Ron yelled furiously. "Hermione, don't listen to a word he says!"

Draco whirled around to face the Order and regarded them with the superior air that was second nature to him. "You've blinded yourselves with your self righteousness. If you open your eyes, you'll see there's more than just two sides to everything."

"Like Death Eaters and Order members, isn't that right, boy?" Moody said, facing Draco squarely.

"The world isn't made up of good people and Death Eaters," Harry said quietly, remembering what Sirius had once said. "Sometimes they're both."

"Indeed," Draco agreed. Green eyes met grey for a moment, then the connection was broken.

"I can't believe you're listening to this crap," Ron yelled. He fumbled with his robes. "Someone should have taken care of you years ago!" His wand slashed through the air.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

It was Ron's wand that flew to Hermione, it was Ron who was sprawled out again on the kitchen floor, mouth open in shock and anger. Hermione disregarded the astonished faces of the rest of the Order and focused her attention on Harry alone.

"Harry, listen to me," she ordered, throwing aside Ron's wand so that she could place her hands on his arms, forcing him to look at her. "The Horcrux is with Voldemort. It's the Mirror of Erised. But it hangs in his ballroom. There is no way that you can breach that building unless you plan to make it an all-out attack, and you can only afford an all-out attack if it's going to be the last one."

"Are you sure about the mirror?" Harry asked, gripping her arms as hard as she was gripping his. "Absolutely sure?"

"It would make sense, Harry, for him to keep another Horcrux under his constant supervision. You'll have to destroy the mirror when you confront Voldemort. It's time to bring in everyone and anyone who will fight on the side of the Order. You'll need all the help you can get."

He nodded, resolve starting to shine fiercely in his eyes.

Her hands tightened around his arms urgently. "So you'll understand when I ask you to stay away from Hogwarts tonight when the Death Eaters take it."

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "Voldemort plans to attack Hogwarts tonight?"

"Yes, but, Harry, you _mustn't_—"

"You're asking me to stand aside and watch as Voldemort takes _Hogwarts_?" Harry demanded. "You know me better than that, Hermione! I t's the only home I've ever had! I won't stand by and let Voldemort desecrate Dumbledore's grave and reopen it as a school for the Dark Arts!"

"Harry, that won't happen if you gather your forces and move to defeat him," Hermione said urgently. "Let him have Hogwarts until then. There's magic in its walls that will defend it far better than the Order ever could. You can't afford the risk of losing anyone now. Dumbledore wouldn't want—"

"What do you know about Dumbledore? I knew him far better than you."

Hermione fell silent. Draco nodded once more towards the clock.

"We've got to go, Granger."

"Harry, _please_." Hermione gave one last plea.

"You can't ask that of me," Harry said, shaking his head. "I can't do that."

"You will if you don't want the last seven years to go completely to waste, Potter," Draco said harshly, as he took a hold of Hermione's arm.

"Hermione, are you going to be there tonight?" Harry demanded, nearly shouting. "With the Death Eaters?"

The look on her face answered him plainly enough as she and Draco Disapparated.

Draco Apparated them to her bedroom. Hermione sat down heavily at her vanity. "He _can't_ go tonight," she said more to herself. "He can't have survived this long only to make such a stupid mistake."

"Keep your chin up, Granger," Draco said. "Chin _up_," he commanded. "The guests are at the door, and you are the hostess. You are Madam Malfoy. Potter's a big boy now. Leave him to make his own stupid decisions. We'll see the results soon enough. I burn the Mark at midnight."


	15. Deflect

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 15: Deflect**

_Deflect: To cause a piece to move to a less suitable square._

Friday, October 31, 2003

* * *

"What a beautiful tiara, Herm!" Pansy Zabini gushed. "My dear, you simply _must_ give me the name of your jeweler!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask the Dark Lord, Pans," Hermione said sweetly. "It was he who gave it to me."

"The D-Dark Lord?" Pansy stuttered. Then, realizing how weak she sounded, she tossed her head flippantly. "Pity he didn't give you a necklace to match." She glanced down at Hermione's bare neck, which contrasted greatly from her own, dripping with priceless diamonds.

"You should be careful, Pansy," Hermione warned. "People might think you're criticizing the Dark Lord's generosity."

Under her heavy rouge, Pansy paled and glanced anxiously at a group of passing wizards. "Of–of course not. I only meant—"

"I'm neglecting my other guests," Hermione interrupted with a bright smile. "We'll talk some more later. Tea, day after tomorrow. Don't forget!"

Waggling her fingers in Pansy's direction as they parted, she kept an eye on the group of wizards that had passed by, noting that there was something vaguely familiar and suspicious about one of them. Though doing his best to blend in with a group of underlings, the stooped, slightly duck-footed figure was not really participating in the merriment like his companions. She was just on the verge of getting a glimpse of his face when Blaise Zabini stepped directly into her path.

"I certainly hope my wife hasn't been bothering you, Madam Malfoy," he said, smiling charmingly at her as he bowed.

"Not in the least," she assured him, hitching her smile back on. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Pansy edging her way toward Draco. The suspicious figure that had caught her attention had disappeared in the crowd. "Though perhaps she should be more cautious about her remarks. They could be taken the wrong way."

"Pansy's tact is as it's always been: nonexistent," Blaise laughed. "One of these days that tongue of hers is going to get her in trouble ... in more ways than one. And don't give me that innocent look." He leaned in confidentially. "I don't believe for a minute you're as innocent as you look."

Hermione's guard went up, but she saw he was far from accusing her of being a spy. He took a hold of her hand and led her to a quieter corner of the room. "We've gotten to know each other quite well over the last few months, but I would like to become even better acquainted." He raised her hand to his lips.

Her eyes had strayed to where Pansy had cornered Draco by the staircase, pressing her body against Draco, who didn't seem to be resisting. But it was Ron's face that loomed up before her. Filthy little ... well, why not?

"There are several guest bedrooms on second floor of the Manor—"

"Draco and I have to open the dance," Hermione said, withdrawing her hand from his grasp.

"Then afterwards," he said, a wandering hand stroking her arm. "The second bedroom in the left wing. I'll be waiting." He kissed her hand one more time, his lips lingering on her skin for much longer than necessary.

She was resisting the urge to wipe the back of her hand when Draco, finally free of Pansy's clutches, strolled over, watching Blaise practically skipping up the stairs.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"We should open the dance, Draco," she suggested, ignoring his question.

Draco took her hand and led her, rather more stiffly than usual, into the ballroom and onto the dance floor. For several moments, everyone politely watched as they waltzed. Draco danced very well, but there was a slight violence in the way he turned her tonight, though it suited the song. When she finally looked up at him, he was looking down at her with a definite storminess in his eyes.

Other couples began to fill the floor. Once the attention was no longer focused upon them, Draco maneuvered them so that they were near the band, where the music was loudest.

"Come to my study as soon as you can," he said in her ear. "There's someone who wants to meet you."

Two elderly ladies were watching them curiously, so Draco said no more. As the waltz came to an end, new partners were already queuing up for both of them.

"Wait three dances," Draco muttered as he bent over her hand to kiss it.

She nodded almost imperceptibly as he handed her over to Josiah Macnair, the son of the former Ministry executioner. She saw Draco slip out of the room at the end of the second dance. After the fourth, she made her excuses to Alexandrei Dolohov, brother of Antonin, and slipped away to the bathroom. She knocked three times on the third panel and stepped through the door that appeared and into Draco's study.

Draco was reclining in the chair behind his desk, talking to a shadowy figure that stood by the window, looking out onto the grounds.

"I'd introduce you, Granger, but I can't pronounce your name quite as well as he does."

Confused, Hermione turned to the stranger and let out a gasp as he stepped into the light.

"Hello, Herm-own-ninny."

"Viktor!" He caught her hands and drew her in, placing a kiss on her cheek.

"Perhaps I should be saying Madam Malfoy," he corrected himself. He kept a firm hold on her hands. "It has been far too long."

"It has," she agreed. "More than eight years! You helped Bulgaria win the last World Cup. Do you still—?"

"You should read the sports section more often, Granger," Draco said softly.

"I haff not played in a long time, Herm-own-ninny. There are things far more important than Quidditch now." Krum began pacing in front of her. "I vas thrown off the team because I voud not swear an oath of loyalty to the Dark Lord. I joined the underground resistance. There are not many of us, but there are enough, and every one of us are villing to give our lives to the cause."

"You're either very brave or very stupid to reveal this to two of the Dark Lord's followers," Draco said, standing and suddenly looking more like a Death Eater to Hermione than he ever had.

Krum straightened to his full height. "You are not faithful to Voldemort."

The two men stared hard at one another. Finally, Draco took a step back.

"Start talking."

Krum hesitated at the order from the younger man but let it pass "Everyone knows the Order still survives, though in hiding. I alvays thought you vould be part of it, Herm-own-ninny, because of Harry. Then you married Draco Malfoy.

"I _know_ you, Herm-own-ninny," Krum said earnestly, taking her hands once more. "You vould never betray Harry, and you vould never marry your enemy vithout reason. And it is the same for you, Malfoy. I am here to offer vhatever help ve can give you. Ve haff twenty vizards, vell-trained for battle."

Hermione glanced at Draco to gauge his reaction. He was regarding Krum coolly.

"Draco, we need as much help as we can get," Hermione said finally. Krum gave her a grateful look.

"You're from a country that is highly sympathetic to Voldemort's cause," Draco said. "I assume your band of rebels moves to a different location every night. How will we locate and contact you?"

It was Hermione who answered. "The same way Dumbledore's Army kept in contact with each other," Hermione said, eyes shining at the sudden idea. "Do you have a couple Galleons, Draco?"

He nodded over to his desk, and she began to rummage in the drawers. "Don't pretend to be so completely noble, Krum. You still have feelings for her," Draco said in a low voice, joining Krum near the window. "You wouldn't have risked coming here if you didn't."

Krum shrugged. "If it veren't for her, I vould haff probably taken the oath just so I could play Quidditch."

Having located a pair of coins, Hermione cast the appropriate spell on them. She held one out to Krum. "Keep this with you always. It will grow hot when I contact you and say when and where you're needed."

"Thank you, Herm-own-ninny." He grasped both the coin and her hand.

"The help you offered us tonight is priceless, Viktor."

"It vas vonderful seeing you, Herm-own-ninny," Krum said, raising her hand and kissing it. He glanced at Draco. "No one else knows. I did not vant to risk anyvone else if I vas wrong."

"Will you need any help leaving?" Hermione asked.

Rolling the Persian carpet away with a flick of his wand, Draco stomped twice on a marble tile next to the fireplace. A trapdoor appeared, leading down to a dark passageway.

"Follow this all the way to its end. You'll surface right outside the gates."

"Goodbye, Herm-own-inny."

"Goodbye, Viktor." When he started to turn away, Hermione impulsively hugged him. "Do take care," she added.

"Krum," Draco acknowledged, with with a curt nod and firm shake of the hand.

"Malfoy," Krum returned. Draco had started to pull out of the handshake when Krum tightened his grip. "And you vill take care of her." It was not a question but a command.

Then he slipped through the trapdoor and was gone.

"Good work, Granger," Draco praised, flexing the hand Krum had all but crushed. "First the owner of Gringotts, now the Quidditch star-turned-head of the Bulgarian resistance. Not bad for one night."

Hermione ignored him. "Twenty from Bulgaria, then there's Fred with the Americans, and Bill and Fleur with the French. Because of Charlie, the Romanians will answer the Order's summons."

"If there's still an Order to summon them after tonight," Draco reminded, leading the way out of his office. The din of the party escalating downstairs reached them even from two floors up. "Where did Blaise—?"

"The second bedroom in the left wing."

Draco nodded, bored. "Remember, we leave at midnight."

Hermione nodded to show she understood and left. A part of her almost wished Draco had tried to keep her from going to Blaise instead of simply accepting it. Almost.

* * *

She first went to her room on the pretense of checking her make-up, but in reality she was just trying to buy some more time. She stared at her reflection and pinched her cheeks to bring some badly needed color into them.

The clock overhead seemed to be ticking exceptionally loudly tonight. She watched as the hands moved toward 10 o'clock. If they were attacking at midnight, then she really couldn't afford to wait any longer.

Hermione moved as if in a dream. She walked down the shadowy corridor of the second floor. A door suddenly opened, and the corridor was filled with the sound of music and chatter from the floor below, where the party was in full swing despite the disappearance of its hostess. Hermione stepped into an alcove to avoid being seen.

"I've waited years for this!" said Pansy, who was being followed closely by two of her minions. "Now, go! I won't have you spoiling it!"

Hermione watched, frozen, as Pansy turned left and made a beeline straight for the second bedroom in the left wing. Pansy paused to smooth her hair one last time before she turned the door handle and stepped through the doorway.

"Pansy! What the hell are you doing here?" Blaise's angry voice was raised loud enough for Hermione to clearly hear what he was saying down the hall.

"Me? What are _you_ doing here? Draco—"

The door squelched shut.

Draco emerged from the other end of the hall and strolled unconcernedly toward her, twirling his wand between his fingers. He walked past the door, ignoring the frantic pounding of Pansy, who was doing everything magically possible to break down the door. Though Hermione was sure the alcove concealed her completely, Draco looked directly at her as he walked by and extended his arm.

"Well, my dear?" he prompted.

Still unsure of what exactly had happened, Hermione did the only thing she could do: She took his offered arm, and they walked slowly, side by side, toward the stairs to rejoin their party.

"Blaise will think I planned that," she murmured, as they began to descend the elaborate staircase of Malfoy Manor. "Tomorrow, everyone will talk of how I'm a tease. Or perhaps a filthy little—"

"No, tomorrow everyone will talk of how you helped take Hogwarts," Draco said as they reached a landing. With a sudden movement, he had her trapped in a corner, against the wall. "And you'd better put on a convincing show, Granger. You've never battled against the Order. You haven't dueled since King's Cross." He felt her body tense. "Are you prepared to hex the Order if you need to? And I mean hex, Granger. Jinx, curse—not a childish _Expelliarmus_."

"Maybe throw in an _Imperio_ or _Crucio_ or _Avada Kedavra_?" she suggested derisively.

"Come on, Granger," Draco said, smiling indulgently. "We both know you've never performed the Imperius or the Cruciatus. There's only one Unforgivable you've ever used, and that's _Avada Kedavra_. We were both there when you killed Ernie Macmillan."

In one movement, Hermione had reversed their positions. She slammed him into the wall, surprising him with her strength. Her wand poked into the side of his neck.

"Don't you _dare_ use that against me, Malfoy," she said in a dangerously low voice. "I did that for _you_. Don't forget for a second that you need me here, by your side, as your wife and as a Death Eater, for Voldemort to continue trusting you, to stop him from killing you as a traitor."

The beginning of an epic stare-down was interrupted by a group of drunken underlings tripping over themselves to get to the second floor. There was just enough time for Hermione to re-pocket her wand and for Draco to reverse their positions once more. Hermione allowed him to maneuver them into a more compromising position, and when his lips descended on hers, she was taken too much by surprise to resist the kiss.

The underlings giggled, pleasantly scandalized to see the master and mistress of the house snogging each other senseless. They finally tore themselves away from this unusual sight. The doors to the second floor fell shut behind them.

As if on cue, Draco and Hermione ended the kiss. Draco stepped back. Hermione remained leaning against the wall.

"So is this why you sent Blaise away?" she asked, wishing she didn't sound so breathless.

"Don't flatter yourself," Draco scoffed, hating the unsteadiness of his voice.

"Then what is this, Malfoy? You promised the Order you wouldn't insist on the consummation of our marriage, but you seem to like breaking promises as much as making them."

"Perhaps if Weasley had grown up and insisted on consummating whatever relationship you had with him, he wouldn't have been calling you filthy little names, eh, Granger?"

"Don't pretend to know anything about me!" she snapped. She raised one hand to slap him, but he quickly caught her wrist and used it to pull her to him for another kiss.


	16. En Prise

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 16: En Prise**

_En prise: A piece that can be captured_

Saturday, November 1, 2003

* * *

Their kiss was demanding and insistent, overwhelming and desperate, intoxicating and instantly addicting. It was a battle for domination, neither giving the other space to think or to breathe, only to feel.

It was sheer, utter madness, yet it made all the sense in the world.

Draco hit the wall he had pressed her against with the flat of his hand. Hermione started, but he did not allow her to break the kiss, not even as they tumbled through the door that had appeared and into her bedroom.

She was falling backward, onto her bed, and she took him with her. His body pressed hers into the soft mattress, and it still was not close enough. It would never be close enough.

He tore his lips from hers, his breathing ragged and his expression tortured as he gazed down at her. Gone was the perfect control and ice-cold mask of Draco Malfoy. She felt like she was on the verge of bursting into a million pieces, and he was the only thing holding her together.

"Granger." Her name rumbled deep in his chest, a question they both knew the answer to.

His grey eyes bore into her brown ones, as if he were trying to look into her soul ... and she let him.

"Malfoy," she breathed her assent.

They tore the clothes off one another as they tore down the walls they had built around themselves. This was only about the two of them, stripped down to the bare essentials. Broken and complete. Pain and pleasure. Too little and too much. Right and wrong. Allies and enemies. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Granger and Malfoy. ... And now they were one.

* * *

Sanity was slow but sure to return. The world righted itself again. She was Hermione Granger, and he was Draco Malfoy, and they were enemies turned allies turned lovers.

Draco was tracing idle patterns on her arm, over the Dark Mark, she realized. She bolted up, clutching the sheets to her chest.

"The attack!" she exclaimed, just remembering.

He drew her back down on the bed. "We've still got time, Granger. Relax."

There it was again, his decidedly bored and superior tone, punctuated with a smirk. And she almost didn't mind. Almost.

His fingers were tracing over a scar on her shoulder, making her shiver with their light touch. She saw the question in his eyes.

"King's Cross," she explained.

"Of course," he said. "Legend has it Voldemort gave it to you himself." He frowned, unimpressed. "It looks like Potter's scar."

"Jealous?" she murmured.

Draco scoffed. "You wish."

"Well, you were sounding a bit like..."

Suddenly, she began to laugh. She buried her face in a pillow to try to stifle the sound but to no avail. Draco watched her warily, wondering if this was Granger finally going off the deep end. But her body—her very well-formed body, he had to admit—was shaking with genuine mirth, he realized.

"Care to share what's so damned hilarious?" he drawled.

"Ron," she managed to gasp out before she dissolved into laughter once more. Okay, maybe she was slightly hysterical.

"If you were fantasizing about the Weasel while we were—"

"No, it's not that," she assured him between laughs. "It's just ... he was right. We did play 'consummate the marriage'."

She felt him smile against the skin of her shoulder. "He was bound to be right about something sometime," he murmured, trailing kisses across her collarbone.

Her laughter dissolved into a breathy sigh as he journeyed up her neck. "You know, it only takes one time to consummate a marriage," she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

"Not the way I play," he growled against the corner of her mouth, before he captured her lips into a bruising kiss once more.

* * *

They finally untangled themselves from each other with 20 minutes to go till midnight. Taking her by the hand, he led her out of her room, rolling his eyes as she insisted on wrapping one of the bedsheets around her body. He led her to their common room and onward into his wing.

He gestured her into his dressing room and closed the door behind them. It was a masculine version of hers. Instead of pastel, the décor was a deep green with dark mahogany wood trimmings instead of her painted white. He strode to a wardrobe and pulled it open, revealing a collection of Death Eater regalia.

"Change," he said brusquely.

The sudden difference in his tone was harsh but necessary, Hermione realized, as she balled up the sheet and began to follow his lead. The Death Eaters' robes were more decorative than practical, layers of fabric in addition to a hood and a mask. She thought she was doing quite well until the ribbons of the cloak gave her some trouble, and she realized her hands were shaking. Draco noticed her trouble, but instead of making some snarky comment, he simply crossed over to her and tied it for her.

He didn't stop there. He took a glove and slipped it over her right hand, somehow making the movement sensual as he smoothed the material up her forearm.

She stared at him, something niggling at her brain.

"What is it?" Draco demanded, seeing realization dawn on her face.

"Moody's eye doesn't work anymore," she said, looking down at her gloved hands. "He didn't see you when you were hiding in the kitchen doorway, and he hasn't seen the Dark Mark through my gloves."

"You only thought of that now?" Draco said disbelievingly. "If it were working, the Order would have known you were Marked ages ago. It hasn't worked for the last year at least."

"But he hasn't told anyone?"

Draco laughed. "Moody will be the last to admit it. He's probably in denial. He thinks he's the Auror he was 25 years ago. Either the magic in the eye has worn off, or his own vision's failing."

"But the Order—"

"—will figure it out eventually, if they haven't already. You've seen the way Potter looks at Moody. They've started leaving him out of the guard duty rotations, but I daresay we'll see him tonight."

He began to slip on her other glove, but instead of pulling it up, he left the material bunched at the wrist while his fingers traced over the bare skin of her forearm, over the Dark Mark. Somewhere in the house, a clock began to toll midnight. He cocked an eyebrow in askance, and she nodded her assent. His eyes never leaving hers, he used her Mark to summon the Death Eaters.

Keeping her hand in his, he led her through several secret doors and passageways, taking a circuitous route to the dungeons in order to avoid their guests. Then they were standing in a stark stone chamber, surrounded by their fellow Death Eaters. Hermione shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cooler temperature.

"We all know why we're here," Draco said, pacing in front of them. Hermione felt a strange thrill of pride at seeing how everyone watched his every movement, hung on to his every word. "The Dark Lord wants us to take Hogwarts, and we shall give it to him. And if Harry Potter is so stupid as to lead his faithful followers to slaughter, then we shall oblige them!"

* * *

Hermione and Draco, masks in place, materialized inside the front gates of Hogwarts. Everything was quiet. There was no sign of the Order, and they could barely make out the shadowy outlines of their fellow Death Eaters a few yards away.

"No sign of them," Hermione muttered. "God, I hope they changed their—"

Suddenly, a volley of lights that seemed to come from the castle itself lit up the night sky. Draco and Hermione crouched near the ground as a dark figure zoomed at them.

"Unmask as many as possible!" Harry's voice ordered as he swooped above them on his Firebolt. "That way we'll see the cowards behind the mask!"

Both Draco and Hermione knew the true purpose of his command was so that no Order member would do serious harm to either of them.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!_"

Hermione recognized Ron's voice bellow out the Dark curse, disregarding Harry's order completely. She and Draco both dodged it, going separate ways. A spell knocked Ron off his broom, sending him tumbling to the ground, but he quickly got to his feet and faced Hermione. She tightened her grip on her wand but could not bring herself to cast the first spell. She realized the gravity of her situation as he shot a spell at her. This was not dueling practice anymore.

"_Impedimenta!_" she cried as he ran towards her.

He easily deflected it. "You're going to have to do better than that, you filthy little Death Eater!"

The blood rushed to Hermione's head at his words. A red jet of light left her wand without her thinking of a spell. It grazed Ron's cheek, leaving a bleeding gash.

"_Revelio!_"

Hermione's mask disappeared, and she felt very exposed without it. Ron's mouth dropped open as he recognized her. He slowly raised a hand to his cheek and saw the blood dripping from his fingers. His expression was twisted into something like hatred.

A spell shot out from behind her, causing Ron to quickly roll away. A furiously dueling Harry and Bellatrix came between her and Ron, and when they had passed, Ron was nowhere to be seen.

With her mask gone, the rest of the Order surreptitiously avoided her, aiming badly at her whenever they crossed paths. She, too, shot badly aimed spells in their general direction to keep up appearances.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!_"

Hermione whirled around as Ron's voice yelled out the Dark curse again. He and Draco were dueling next to the castle walls, both looking a little the worse for wear. Draco quickly deflected the curse. Not even noticing a spell that ripped through the side of her robes, Hermione hit Ron with a Full Body-Bind before either could do the other lasting damage. She felt some satisfaction that he fell to the ground none too gently. She could feel Draco's eyes on her, but she turned and let the battle draw her in once more.

Within minutes, Harry's voice was yelling for the Order to retreat. Someone, Hermione thought it was Lupin, freed Ron and dragged him onto the back of his broom. The Order took to the skies, the Death Eaters firing spells at them as they retreated.

"They want you to cast the Mark," Draco said, suddenly at her side. "You know the incantation?"

"But the Order..."

Draco followed her gaze. The Order was hovering above the castle, behind one of the towers and out of range of the Death Eaters' spells. Draco allowed the wind to blow his hood off. He pulled Hermione's off as well. There was going to be no doubt of who cast the Mark over Hogwarts for the Death Eaters or the Order.

"They should have listened to our advice and stayed away tonight," he said harshly. "The others expect it, Hermione," he reminded, forcing her fingers to tighten around her wand.

"Then we mustn't keep them waiting," Hermione answered, her voice laced with pain. She raised her wand and pointed it upwards.

"_MORSMORDRE!_"

The Dark Mark shot out of her wand and shone brightly in the night sky.


	17. Adjust

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 17: Adjust**

_Adjust: To adjust the position of a piece on its square without being required to move it._

Saturday, November 1, 2003

* * *

Hermione found herself desperately wishing Draco would look at her, but his gaze seemed to rest anywhere but on her.

"Aunt Bella, please inform the Dark Lord that Hogwarts is now his," he requested crisply.

Bellatrix's heavy-lidded eyes lit up with joy as she went off to do as Draco ordered, her mad cackle of laughter filling the night air. For a moment, Hermione wanted to join in her merriment, but an irrational giggle was choked up into a stifled gasp as a pair of grey eyes flashed at her.

"Alecto, Amycus, you two have first round of guard duty. You can switch with Dolohov and Macnair at four." The chosen Death Eaters opened their mouths to object, but Draco cut them off. "And I'm sure the Dark Lord will appreciate your dedication to his cause," he added icily. "Everyone else can go."

Hermione was laughing hollowly as Draco Apparated them back to the Manor. Draco had brought them back to his dressing room. He went to a chest of drawers and began pulling out an assortment of bottles and bandages.

"Did you see the looks on their faces when I cast the Dark Mark?" she asked between breathless gasps that hardly sounded like laughter.

"Yes, they were terribly impressed. Dolohov told Aunt Bella he'd never seen someone conjure one so powerful. He said it would last days. She looked like she'd just swallowed Polyjuice—"

"No, I'm talking about the Order! Complete disbelief and _utter _betrayal! Harry looked as if he could have performed the _Avada_ on me." She smiled derisively. "But the Death Eaters were pleased, that's good."

"Potter doesn't even know if he can perform the _Avada_ on Voldemort," Draco said disparagingly.

Hermione let out another laugh. "Maybe he thought he could practice on me."

He ignored her comment. "Take off those robes and figure out if you need any of this," he said, applying a salve to a burn on his arm. "But you shouldn't be too bad off. You were unmasked early, and the Order was avoiding you like the plague. Me, on the other hand ..."

Hermione toyed with the various ointments and began alphabetizing them. With a slight grimace, Draco shrugged off his robes and then his shirt. An ugly bruise had already formed on his right side. He reached for his wand to heal it and saw Hermione staring at his chest. She hadn't noticed it before.

"Like what you see, Granger?" he smirked.

"So that's where Harry... _Sectumsempra_..."

Draco glanced down at the thin scar that sliced across his chest. "It would seem Weasley's learned that particular spell, too. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was trying to kill me," Draco said sarcastically, testing his ankle. "I gave him a few bruises to remember me by, though someone had done a good number on his face before I got to him."

"I know," Hermione said faintly, staring down a small black vial. Should 'Draught of Living Death' go under 'D' or 'L'?

"Wonder who—"

"It was me."

The hand wrapping a bandage efficiently around his arm slowed considerably.

"You should have seen his face when he unmasked me. Pure, unadulterated hate." She looked up at him almost pleadingly, as if begging him to understand.

"It's easy to get sucked in and lose yourself, isn't it?" he said knowingly.

"So easy," she agreed, nodding vaguely as she staggered.

"Watch it, Granger," Draco said, reaching out to steady her. When she had gotten back her balance, he pulled away and saw blood on his hand. He took a closer look and saw it dripping down her robes. He maneuvered her onto his bed.

"Ready for round two, Malfoy?" Hermione said, her eyes glazing.

"Yes, but you aren't," he muttered, as he made a bigger tear in her robes to see the injury better. "Merlin, Granger, who was trying to finish you off?" There was a gaping wound in her side.

Hermione closed her eyes as the pieces fell together hazily. "Ron ... he was dueling ... you deflected ... _Sectumsempra..._"

"All right, Granger, stay with me," Draco ordered, keeping a firm hand on her shoulder as she swayed. Through the mist that had settled over her eyes, Hermione saw Draco poking at her side while he muttered an incantation that sounded like a song. _Vulnera sanentur. _And with that strange lullaby, she drifted off.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, it took her a moment to realize she was in Draco's bedroom. She sat up slowly and saw Draco lounging on a settee across the room.

"Don't you ever sleep?" she asked.

"Not if I can help it," he answered truthfully.

She pushed herself into a sitting position, though her head swam slightly at the movement.

"I feel as if a thousand years have passed in the last 24 hours, and the sight of you sitting there with that half condescending, half indifferent look on your face is the only thing keeping me from flying to pieces," she admitted. "Which says a lot about my mental state, I'm sure."

"You're saner than most people we know," Draco said bracingly. "The Order proved tonight they're halfway off their rocker. The Death Eaters had little reason when they joined Voldemort and probably none now."

She did not take any comfort from his words. "We're in the Order _and_ we're Death Eaters," she pointed out. "If that doesn't scream insanity, then I don't know what does."

"Both of us had to be a little crazy to do this," he admitted.

She glanced over to the window as pale light began suffusing around the edges of the dark curtains. "Almost dawn," she murmured, reaching out to pull them aside.

"The view's no good from here." His voice startled her by its nearness. She had not heard him get up. "Come on, Granger. You can appreciate the sunrise from only one place in the entire Manor."

He knocked on the wall beside his bed, and a door appeared. He was halfway through it when he looked at her expectantly, and she realized he meant for her to follow him. She hesitated but saw the challenge in his eyes. She followed him up the staircase and emerged into a room that looked very much like their common room, except double the size.

With the flick of his wand, Draco sent a heavy velvet curtain that hung across one wall reeling across the room, revealing large bay windows. The grey light of dawn filtered into the room for the first time in years, allowing Hermione to observe her surroundings. The color scheme was green like the rest of the house, but the combination of the pastel green of her rooms and the dark green of his dressing room was done tastefully and seamlessly.

"Another bedroom?" she asked archly. "What's this one for? The extra special mistress?"

"No, it's the master bedroom." Hermione's smirk disappeared. "Also known as the Malfoy Bedroom. This is where the continuation of the Malfoy line is ensured." The amusement had died from Hermione's face as her gaze shifted to the large bed that stood on a raised platform, rather like a stage.

But, either oblivious to or pointedly ignoring the slight panic on her face, Draco merely strolled over to one of the bay windows and opened it, filling the room with cold air. He stepped out onto a large balcony and leaned against the stone balustrade. Hermione followed him. Her fingers traced the fancy 'M's' that made up the balustrade.

"Merlin, you lot like putting your name on ... everything..."

The sky was aflame with rapidly changing colors. Pale pink blossomed into magenta before turning a fiery orange as the sun rose. The panoramic view took Hermione's breath away. It seemed she could see for miles and miles. She closed her eyes and let the sunlight stream through her eyelids.

"The first time I came out here, I was about seven or eight," Draco said, speaking to the sky. "Mother and Father were out, and I was exploring. I accidentally fell asleep out here and when Father found me... Well, let's just say he wasn't happy that I'd wandered out of my wing of the house."

"What did he do?"

"He hung me over the edge by my ankles to wake me," Draco sounded almost bored. "My mother begged him to put me down, which he did ... eventually. That was the first time I hated my father, not for humiliating me but for terrifying my mother."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and horror, but she did not say anything. The silence seemed to stretch on for ages as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. It was slightly unnerving how in tune she was with his body language, how she knew to read the set of his jaw and the rigidness of his shoulders to gauge when enough time had passed for his anger to ebb away.

When he looked as relaxed as he ever looked without faking it, Hermione turned her attention to the rising sun again. Though he seemed to be expecting no reciprocation of the tidbit of information he had shared with her, Hermione felt compelled to do the same.

"I haven't seen the sunrise in years," she finally said. "I can't believe it's been that long."

"Didn't the Order have you up at the crack of dawn doing chores?"

"If so, I wouldn't have had time to stop and appreciate it, would I?" She smiled thinly. "No, you see, at the end of every term, when I'd come home from school, my parents and I would talk about everything that had happened since we'd last seen each other. We'd stay up the whole night, and by the time we finished, it would be morning. We'd always watch the sunrise together. The last time was the night before I _Obliviated_ them and sent them to Australia. I wanted—no, needed a chance to explain even though they wouldn't remember." She frowned. "But they did remember, something at least. I must have done the spell wrong. That must have been why they were at King's Cross on September 1."

"No. Voldemort sent them there."

She couldn't breathe. "What?"

"He's always wanted you Granger," he said. His voice was steady, but she could tell it was taking some effort. "Even before the prophecy, all the way back to the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. He sent a couple Death Eaters to get your parents from Australia and bring them back to London. He was going to lure you out into the open with them, use them as leverage to get to leave the Order and onto his side.

"But they weren't even necessary. You were all alone at King's Cross." He looked angry for a moment. "What the hell was the Order thinking? Voldemort moved in to take you, but then something went wrong. The roof wasn't supposed to collapse. You weren't supposed to get hurt. Voldemort was furious. He thought you had died. Then he got word from one of his spies about your prophecy and knew you were still alive."

"Oh God." She slid down to the floor. After a moment, Draco joined her.

"That's why _I_ never told you about the prophecy," Draco confessed. "He's wanted you ever since. He never stopped looking for you. But as long as you stayed in Grimmauld Place, he couldn't find you."

Hermione was silent, trying to process all the information he had just thrown at her. It was too much. She pushed it away to think of another day.

"Have Pansy and Blaise gotten out of the second floor?" she asked.

It was a vicious change of subject, and both felt it keenly.

"Yes, I had them released about an hour ago. I could hear Pansy screaming bloody murder when they got out."

Hermione smiled weakly. She leaned her head against the balustrade, letting the wind whip at her cheeks until they were quite numb, tear at her hair until it was a hopelessly tangled mess. She realized a little while later that her hair was whipping Draco slightly in the face. She pulled it aside and looked to see why he hadn't said anything.

Her expression softened slightly as she realized he had fallen asleep. She wondered if his head had settled into the corner of the balustrade some 15 years ago, like it had now, when he had been waiting for his parents to come home. She wondered if he had gone wandering because, like now, he had been trying to keep sleep away.

Hermione shivered slightly. No one knew where the elder Malfoy was at the moment. He was out of Voldemort's favor and had not been seen since he had escaped from Azkaban. Rumors had trickled in to the Order that Lucius must have had help in getting away ... and all fingers pointed to Severus Snape, who had gone missing around the same time.

Hermione shivered again, and this time it was from the cold. She stood up to go inside and was faced with a dilemma. She couldn't leave Draco outside, but neither did she want to wake him from his much needed sleep. With a wry smile at what he would say if he were awake, she decided to levitate him inside.

Hermione's eyes grew wide as she realized in that moment, she had complete power over Draco Malfoy. If she moved her wand an inch, he would be dangling over the edge of the balustrade. If she flicked her wrist, he would be sent flying down to inevitable death.

She could so easily imagine him as a seven-year-old. With his blond hair and pale features, he must have looked something like an angel. Even now, with his noble features and haughty gracefulness he sometimes reminded her of a tragically fallen angel. And how far he must have fallen, what a hell he'd had to live in all these years. She had been doing it only for a few months and already she could feel the strain yanking at her jealously hoarded shreds of sanity. It would almost be merciful to end. Almost—

With a jolt, Hermione realized she had let him hover dangerously close to the edge. She quickly brought him inside and deposited him unceremoniously on the bed. She hastily pocketed her wand.

"Thanks, Granger," he mumbled.

With a sardonic smile, Hermione wondered what he would have said if he had been awake two minutes ago and his life had hung, quite literally, in the balance.

As soon as she descended into their common room, she was bombarded by a thousand questions from the house-elves. Did Madam want a bath drawn? Did Madam want a change of clothes laid out? Did Madam want breakfast? No! She only wanted to be left alone, and Merlin help the first person that crossed her path!

Unable to care that she had just yelled at the creatures she once organized a political campaign around, Hermione found herself on the second floor, wandering down the corridor like she had just hours before, when she thought she was meeting Blaise. In the daylight, she studied the family tree that covered the entire wall of the corridor. Unlike the one in Grimmauld Place, this one was completely intact, tracing the Malfoy lineage all the way back to Armand Malfoy. Draco's name was at the very end, a little line connecting it to her own.

There was some beauty to the place, she decided. The only problem was that silence and disuse ruled the house, making it more like a museum than a home. Some rooms hadn't been opened in years. A grand piano in one of the locked up drawing rooms was badly out of tune, the prevalent silver and gold décor had no chance to gleam in the perpetual shadows. Why was it that every window was covered with heavy curtains? Every window except the great bay ones in the room where Draco now slept, hopefully peacefully.

Inexplicably, Hermione's mind kept wandering up to that room. Lucius had punished his son, punished him so badly that he remembered it vividly to this day. And _she had nearly—_

A sick, swooping sensation came over her. She dashed into the nearest bathroom, turned the tap to its hottest setting, and ran her left forearm under the scalding water until the Dark Mark stood out starkly against the bright red skin. She took a bar of soap and began scrubbing at the Mark. She was not like Lucius. She was _NOT!_

"Stop!"

Suddenly, he was there. Draco jerked her hand out from under the water and turned off the tap. A Cooling Spell wrapped itself around her arm, soothing the irritated skin.

"It doesn't work," he said. "Nothing does." He spoke with the authority of one who knew from experience.

"I want out, Malfoy!" she yelled. She looked up at him and was met by the intensity of his angry glare. "Draco, I'm done with this stupid, bloody mess! I can't—I won't—I want _out!_ I've never wanted anything else so badly in my life!" she declared.

He grabbed a hold of her shoulders and shook her hard. "No, you don't," he said fiercely, shaking her with every word. "Because if you really did, you wouldn't be _alive_ right now. You would have give up long ago!"

He stopped shaking her. She fell against his chest, hands fisted in the front of his robes and gasping for breath. It was as close to crying as you could get without the tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she murmured, shaking her head back and forth. "I didn't mean—God, I'm sorry."

And they both knew she wasn't talking about her arm or the Dark Mark or how she had said she wanted out.

When Draco spoke this time, he was calmer. Hermione could hear the deep vibration in his chest as he spoke. "You barely let me drift over the edge, Hermione. I knew you weren't going to let me fall."

"Why didn't you stop me?" she demanded.

"Because you needed to stop yourself," he answered simply. "And you did. You didn't need my mother or anyone else to beg for my life. You're not like Lucius. You don't like having power over anyone else's life. Neither do I." He paused, and in the silence Hermione slowly became aware that he was stroking her hair, calming her. "You know, the only time I've ever killed was during _my_ initiation, when I was 16 and took my father's place. He was the one who suggested it—offered me up as a sacrifice for his own life."

When she looked up at him in horror, he pulled her to him again, unable to stand the look on her face. "That was the last time I cared what happened to Lucius. From that moment on, I hated my father for what he'd done to our family, for putting himself before his own wife, his son. He can run and hide for the rest of his life for all I care. He can die and burn in hell with my blessing."

"Why are you telling me this?" she finally asked.

"Because, compared to what I feel for him, I begin to wonder if I ever did hate you ... because I certainly don't hate you now."


	18. Adjournment

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 18: Adjournment**

_Adjournment: Suspension of a long chess game with the intention to continue later, usually on another day._

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

* * *

Hermione fastened her cloak and slipped on her dragonhide gloves as she left Madam Malkin's dress shop, where she had just been fitted for a new set of expensive and perfectly tailored robes. Nearly three weeks had passed since Hogwarts was surrendered to Voldemort's control. It was to be opened in the New Year as a training school for the next generation of Death Eaters, and Hermione had been offered the illustrious position of Headmistress by Voldemort himself, causing much grumbling among the more senior Death Eaters.

Of all the things she had been asked to do, becoming of Headmistress of a school for the Dark Arts was the one thing she had almost balked at. Every time she went to Hogwarts to help set up the new curriculum, the building itself seemed to reproach her for desecrating its halls. There had been talk of removing Dumbledore's grave, but Voldemort decreed it would stay as a reminder of what had been and what had triumphed.

There had been no other confrontations with the Order. When they were alone, Draco told her of resistance groups from other countries being smuggled throug the border. Where they were exactly and how Draco found out, Hermione did not know. But nothing was said among the Death Eaters, so it seemed no one else had found out ... yet. Hermione only hoped that enough people would come before Voldemort launched his last attack to purge the rest of the Order.

She was making a beeline for the Leaky Cauldron when she saw Pansy Parkinson and her entourage exiting a nearby teashop. Knowing she would already have to spend that night downing cocktails while listening to their silly conversation, Hermione quickly ducked into the nearest shop and found herself in Flourish and Blotts.

Giving Pansy time to leave, Hermione wandered around the shelves, after being bowed into the shop by the owner, who addressed her solemnly as Madam Malfoy. She had acknowledged his greeting with the fraction-of-an-inch tilt of the head and wondered if he remembered her from her Hogwarts days. She had haunted this shop for hours on end. She was just about to reach for a particularly thick Arithmancy book when she remembered that studious branches of magic were not in vogue at the moment. She withdrew her hand and strolled to the next aisle.

Games and Sports. She frowned a little as she saw that the majority of the books in this section were on Quidditch, and many of them seemed to concern the Chudley Cannons. She was about to leave for the Self-Care aisle (Books on Beauty Charms and Glamour!) when the shelf on wizard's chess caught her eye.

_Shadows of Ourselves: How to be One with Your Players._ Her mind wandered back to the conversation she had had with Draco weeks ago, when he had used chess to put their situation in perspective. She had taken his 'lesson' to heart, though she was still disturbed about his comment about not keeping his queen on the sideline like Ron did. He'd described exactly how Ron treated her, though she hadn't known it herself. Shaking her head, she let the book fall open.

_One of the most common misconceptions of the game of chess is that each player on the board has an individual job to do. In actuality, all players must be utilized with the same goal in mind: victory. Every single move of every single player must be directed toward this goal. No sudden fortunes (such as a stray opponent's piece) should cause one to deviate from the plan, no matter how tempting the fortune appears. There must be harmony among one's pieces. If one's pieces do not get along with each other, dispose of them immediately and obtain a better-matched set. For even if the single goal of victory motivates you and your players, the loss of victory is imminent if there is discord on the board._

Hermione suddenly knew she had to go back to the Order. Ron may scream and rant, and so may the others, but Harry would listen. She needed to tell him about Viktor and the Bulgarian resistance. A wry smile crossed her features as she imagined the expression on Ron's face at the mention of her former boyfriend.

Hermione closed the book with a snap and strode to the front of the shop to pay for it. Brushing aside the shopkeeper's offer to wrap her purchase, she left the shop and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

It was empty. For a moment, Hermione's heart stood still before logic prevailed. There was no sign of struggle. Things were laying around, waiting to be picked up again, so they hadn't left for good. They were just out, perhaps helping some more resistance groups get across the border. Still, she had to be sure...

She went to the first bedroom on the second floor and opened the door soundlessly. From the bed that he hardly ever left, George Weasley smiled ... smiled like she wasn't even there.

"Hey, Georgie," she said, her voice cracking slightly. George had been under her watch and care. Ron and Ginny couldn't stand seeing their brother this way, and he always seemed, strangely, to recognize her best. She cast a critical eye around the room. He seemed well taken care of and well fed. His sheets were new, and his pajamas fresh. Hermione caught sight of a schedule tacked to the wall by the door. It was a rotation of Order members, and what day and time they were to take care of George.

"What's up, old boy?" she asked him, pulling a chair close to the side of his bed. "Everyone treating you all right?"

He didn't answer. He never did. But as Hermione had told the others on many occasions, it didn't mean he didn't listen.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited you in so long," she continued. "I've been busy, you see, busy married to Draco Malfoy, if you believe it! Of all people! You would have a field day if you saw me running around Malfoy Manor, giving orders to house-elves and having lunch with Death Eaters."

She fiddled with a hole in his blanket before repairing it with a swish of her wand. "You know, they're reopening Hogwarts. It's going to be a school for the Dark Arts—new curriculum, new Headmistress ... _me_. I don't know how I'm going to do it, Georgie. I can barely stand the thought of using our old classrooms to teach the Dark Arts to eleven-year-olds—"

"But you can stand leaving your friends for dead?"

Hermione's head shot up. Ron stood in the doorway. Her eyes flicked to the schedule. It was his day to stay with George.

"Hello, Ron," she said, forcing a smile. "Where is everyone else?"

"Out," he said shortly.

"Where?"

"I can't tell you that. Voldermort would probably name you head of the Ministry for that information, seeing how he rewarded you for your work at Hogwarts, Headmistress Malfoy." He bowed mockingly before her.

"Draco's the one slotted for next Minister, not me," Hermione said conversationally, hoping he he would follow her polite, slightly teasing tone. He didn't.

"Oh, hark! Master and Madam Malfoy: Minister of Magic and Headmistress of Hogwarts," Ron said sarcastically. "What's next? Overthrow Voldemort?"

"Yes, that _is_ the plan."

Ron glared. "So that _you _can take his place?"

"You know perfectly well that isn't true." She stood. "This isn't the place to argue, Ron. Let's go somewhere else. We're bothering George."

"Bothering him?" Ron repeated incredulously. "He probably doesn't even know we're here!"

"That's not true, Ron!" she exclaimed. "Maybe if more of you believed in him, he would be able to find himself!"

"Oh, is that your hope for dear Draco? Believe he's good and he will be? Is that why you protected him and attacked me?"

"Ron, I—"

"Don't try to deny it," he snapped. "Remus can see better than anyone else in the dark. I know it was you who Body-Bound me and left me to be captured, tortured, and killed."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. He stared at her in incredulity.

"So it really was you. I didn't want to believe it," he whispered, but his voice was gaining volum,e. "Now we know where your true loyalties lie! Why did you come here, Hermione? To finish off the job you started?" He gestured furiously at his cheek where a thin white scar was just visible.

She considered showing him the scar in her side from his _Sectumsempra _but thought better of it. She took a deep breath, willing her anger to ebb away.

"I need to see Harry," she said calmly.

"Why? Malfoy not satisfying you?" he asked suggestively. "Need to steal Ginny's boyfriend too? We've heard about you and Blaise Zabini."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ronald."

"Why are you fighting so hard against it?" he demanded, the hurt evident in his eyes. He took her hand. "Against us?"

"Please let go of me," she whispered

"Once you find love, you don't ever let go," he said. "Why can't you see that what we have doesn't happen every day, Hermione? What we have is special, but I feel like I'm fighting to hold on for both of us, while you're ready to let go."

Her voice came out as a strangled whisper. "How can you hold on to something you never had?"

His grip tightened. "What are you saying, Hermione?" There was fear in his tone.

She struggled to steady her shaking voice. "I thought it was love, too, but now I know better. Listen, Ron, it's not your fault or mine or anyone else's. You loved me because I was here, because you need something to love in the middle of all this war. And I let you love me because it feels wonderful to be loved, in any way."

"Are you saying you don't love me?" he asked, looking as if the world was crashing to pieces.

"Do you love me, Ron? You can't. Not really. Look me straight in the eye and tell me you love me."

Anguished blue orbs met her tired brown one. "I love you," he said imploringly. "_I—love—you!_"

It took a moment for Hermione's voice to start working again. "You even say it like you're trying to convince yourself," she said sadly. "You _want_ to love me—"

"I do!" he whispered brokenly. "I do..."

He turned away from her, his head bent in despair.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she whispered, surprised at the amount of feeling in her voice. "But I can't pretend to care for you in that way. It isn't fair to either of us."

"This is because of Malfoy, isn't it?" His voice was hard as steel again. His blue eyes were ice once more as they bore into her brown ones. "You love him! You did love me, but now you don't, and it's because of _HIM!_"

"Ron—"

"I don't need your pity!" he roared. She inadvertently took a step back from him. "I always just wanted your love, Hermione! That's all I ever wanted and needed!" He gazed at her despairingly. "Why now? When every day could be our last, why did you have to take away the only thing I was living for?"

"Don't say that, Ron," she pleaded. Her heart was racing in her chest as she saw hopelessness crash over him. "You've still got Ginny and Harry and Fred and George and Bill and—"

"I only ever wanted you!"

"And you still have me. We've always been the best of friends, Ron! You, Harry, and me. Together to whatever end, remember?"

An oddly twisted smile settled on Ron's lips. "Well, this is the end, Hermione."

Turning on his heel, he strode out the door. Fear gripped Hermione's heart as she caught a glimpse of the reckless look on his face. She ran after him and clutched his arm.

"Ron, what are you going to do?" she asked, her voice sharp and panicked.

"Let go of me, Hermione," he said, too calmly and coolly, attempting to wrestle his arm out of her grip.

"Ron—"

"What do you care what happens to me?"

"I do care! Just not in the way you want me to!"

"Just leave it alone, then, Hermione!"

Several things happened at once. Harry appeared at the bottom of the staircase; Ron threw Hermione's hold off him so violently that she stumbled backward, her heel catching on a loose floorboard so that she fell to the ground; and George burst out of his bedroom and landed a neat right hook on his younger brother.

Ron and Hermione stared up in shock at the twin.

"Ron, you know better than to get into a fight with a girl," George scolded.

Ron made an odd choking noise. "I-I wasn't—"

"You'll just lose, and that just embarrasses the whole family. Good thing I got to you before Mum did. She probably would have done worse than that."

Ron's jaw dropped open. "George, Mu-Mum's ... _dead_," he said, voice cracking.

George laughed as he turned to his side. "You know, Fred, we should really teach ickle Ronnikins how a sense of humor works. It's supposed to be _funny_, see. Not morbid..."

"I can't take this," Ron whimpered, looking like a caged animal as his gaze flicked from George to Hermione to Harry. He jumped to his feet and, after a moment's hesitation, Harry stepped aside, allowing Ron to dash down the stairs.

"Hermione, what—?"

She allowed Harry to help her to her feet. "Let's get George settled first, then we can talk."

It only took a few moments for them to get George back into bed. He had relapsed into silence once again. Hermione closed the door quietly behind her.

"What happened?" Harry asked gravely as they slowly walked down the stairs together.

"I told him the truth, Harry." She gave a little, hopeless laugh. "I don't know if I should have. And to think of it, I came here to keep 'discord from the board', not add to it."

"The truth about what?"

"About him and me." He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. She sighed tiredly. "I'm not in love with him, Harry."

"But—"

"But everyone will continue to believe that we were, are, and always will be meant for each other!"

Harry placed a placating hand on her shoulder. "If you truly mean it, Hermione, then I believe you, even if no one else will. I know how important one person's belief can be." He looked at her significantly.

"Thank you, Harry. It does mean the world to me."

"But if this is about the Unbreakable Vow, and you're trying to spare Ron—"

"—then, Merlin, _Avada _me now."

Harry looked at her severely. "That's not funny, Hermione."

"I think you know, Harry, that I'm telling the truth. You know Ron and me more than anyone else in the world. Could you see us being happy together?"

"Honestly? No, not now," Harry said heavily. "At least not with both of you being the people you are now." His frown deepened. "But maybe when all this is over—"

"War changes people, Harry. This _is_ who we are. We're never going to be our 17-year-old selves ever again."

"Well, that's a cheery thought, isn't it?" His face softened as their eyes met. "Come here." He pulled her into a hug. "Everything will turn out right, Hermione. And if it doesn't, then we gave it our best shot, and that's all we could have done."

Footsteps creaked in the hallway. Hermione froze in his arms. Harry turned to see Ginny. Knowing the damage had already been done, Harry let his arms fall to his sides slowly but made no move to put any distance between them.

"I'll just leave you to it, then," Ginny said coolly, turning on her heel and marching the other way.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said miserably. "It seems I can't do anything right anymore."

"Ah ... don't worry about it," Harry said, running a distracted hand through his hair.

"I'd better go," she said. "I came to tell you that Viktor Krum and the Bulgarian resistance have offered up their wands and lives to the Order. They'll report when they're needed. I gave him a Galleon with a Protean Charm on it, and they have their own ways to get in and out of England."

"Krum?" Harry repeated, as if he could not quite believe it. "I didn't even know a Bulgarian resistance existed. Bulgaria's always favored Voldemort."

"Twenty wizards will come, Harry."

"_Twenty?_ And I was just glad for the five that trickled in from France with Bill and Fleur."

"Only five?"

"Yes, well, you know how hard they've been hit. Do you want to say hello to—?"

She smiled slightly. "No, it's all right. You say hello for me." She handed him a Sickle. "If ever you need me or I need you," she explained.

"I see I've been devalued by Krum," Harry joked, taking the Sickle.

"And to help with expenses," she added, dropping a bag heavy with Galleons into his other hand.

He weighed the bag in his palm. "Hermione—"

"There's more where that came from, so just let me know."

"Be careful, Mione."

She pecked him lightly on the cheek and poised herself to Disapparate.

"Just out of curiosity," Harry said suddenly, frowning at the Sickle, "is it true that you're the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Dark Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Her smile faded. "How much longer until you have all your forces ready, Harry?"

"We're only waiting for Fred and the Americans," he said, confused. "There's a lot of them, so it's been hard finding a way to get them all in, though this should help. Why do you ask?"

"Because I don't know how long I can teach children the Dark Arts without wanting to _Avada_ myself."

* * *

Hermione returned to Malfoy Manor just in time to get ready for the party being thrown for them to celebrate their two-month wedding anniversary.

"Where were you?" Draco asked as he put in a cuff link. He almost sounded worried. Almost.

"Sorry, I came from Diagon by way of Grimmauld," she explained.

Draco's right cuff link seemed to give him a bit more trouble than this left. "Weasley was there?"

"Where else would he be? At the café down the street?"

Draco did not answer right away. He finally got the cuff link in. "I suppose he's the reason your wrist is black and blue."

Hermione glanced down at the wrist Ron had grabbed her to throw off her hold on him. There was a very faint bruise. She rolled her eyes as she performed a hardly necessary Glamour Charm to cover it up.

"It's nothing," she assured him. "I was trying to stop him from running off when he didn't want to stay."

Draco slipped on his robes and checked his reflection in the floor-length mirror, straightening the collar of his shirt. Without another word, he headed for the door. Hermione watched his retreating back in the reflection of her mirror.

"You aren't going to do anything stupid, are you?" she asked as his hand reached for the doorknob.

"Not unless you want me to."

"Obviously not ... but thanks for the offer.

He magicked a bag of ice onto her vanity, belatedly showed her his gold tie so that she could dress to match, and told her to remember she was a witch with a wide knowledge of Defensive Spells next time she decided it was a good time to break someone's heart.


	19. Forced Move

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 19: Forced Move**

_Forced move: A move which is clearly the only one which does not result in immediate catastrophe for the moving player._

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

* * *

"All right, how many does that make?" Harry asked.

"About 70, give or take," Ginny said, glancing at the long list of names on the table. "Not counting the ten Healers."

Harry sighed at the businesslike tone Ginny now used whenever speaking to him. "That's quite a force to take charge of," he frowned.

"Mate, when will you learn?" Fred said exasperatedly. "You are Harry _effing_ Potter. If you asked them to, every one of those 70 would stick their hands up your—"

"Yeah, 'cuz that's exactly what he needs when he's dueling Voldemort," Ron retorted. His mood had improved slightly with Fred's return. "He won't be distracted at all with 70 hands up his—"

"Fred's right," Ginny interjected shortly. "They'll listen to you and do whatever you want."

"Right," Harry said, resolution creeping into his voice because of this—albeit grudging—compliment. It was the most gracious thing she had said to him since she had seen him hugging Hermione. "So we'll approach Voldemort's lair from all sides. Bill, Fleur, you've got the southeast corner. Fred, you've got the south and southwest corner?"

"Yeah, I'm splitting them up in two groups. I'll head one, Angelina the other."

"And Krum has his 20 to cover the west and northwest," Harry said, glancing down at the model Ron had set up on the table, using cracked jars, small pots, and an empty salt shaker to represent their forces.

"Do you really think we should entrust an entire quarter of the front to Krum?" Ron asked.

Harry continued like he hadn't heard him. "Parvati and Padma and their group will cover the east side. Cho will head her group from the northeast." Ginny pointedly refused to look at him. "And the seven of us will draw Voldemort from the entrance at the north. The remaining forces will patrol the fringes as the final safety, jump in at any weak spots, and take the injured to the Healers."

"Krum isn't even in the country!" Ron exclaimed. "We only have his word, which he gave to Hermione and _Malfoy_, by the way, that he'll show up when he's needed. Bulgaria has always been pro-Voldemort—"

"He arrived last night with all 20 wizards," Harry said quietly.

"Oh."

"I know it's hard," Harry began, getting to his feet and pacing before them, "but it would be a great help if we put personal things aside until afterward." A sort of smiling grimace passed over everyone's faces. To talk of life after seemed slightly frivolous. "If there is an afterward," Harry added, sighing heavily.

Everyone had gone stock-still. The possibility of defeat had been ever present in their minds since day one, but no one ever voiced it aloud. It was as if Harry had just broken an unspoken rule and damned them all.

"We _could_ lose," Harry said matter-of-factly. "In fact, there's a huge possibility of it. I always planned on having all the Horcruxes destroyed before I went after him so that we would be facing each other on equal terms. But I see now that this war never had anything to do with equality. I mean, look at us. We've been driven underground and only have a scarce 70 against whatever he can throw at us. Seventy people with conscience against all manner of bloodthirsty creatures under his command. But this is the only way: The snake, the mirror, and Voldemort in a single blow."

"And what if the mirror isn't a Horcrux?" Lupin asked, sounding defeated. "We only have—"

"—Hermione's word," Harry said in the same quiet tone.

"Perhaps we should focus all our forces on one spot," Ron said, looking hard at the diagram. "We can be more sure of success when we try to breach his fortress, which, despite how it looks, has more security than Hogwarts, Azkaban, and Gringotts combined."

"No, your original plan is good, Ron," Harry said. "It draws Voldemort out to meet me and diffuses his forces evenly in all directions. We aren't going to play this out like some epic battle. We're going to try to sneak in and get as many as we can before they even know the battle's begun."

"So we're all out there fighting and Voldemort's coming out to meet you. The snake will probably be at his side, so we can take a stab at it then," Tonks summed up. "But who's going to go in and get the mirror?"

Harry braced himself on the mantle as he leaned over the fireplace, his back turned to them. "We would waste time running around looking for the mirror, and Voldemort himself would probably be right at our heels..."

"What are you saying, Harry?" Kingsley asked shrewdly.

"... obviously, someone familiar with the place..."

"Spit it out, Potter," Moody growled.

"Hermione has suggested that she and Malfoy be the ones to get the mirror." Instead of the outraged outburst that Harry expected, a silence greeted his words. Confused, he turned to face them.

"What, no objections?"

"We were hoping you were joking," Fred said.

"It's not really a joking matter, is it?" He shrugged hopelessly. "Honestly, I don't see a better solution. They're the only ones who have ever been in the building, and no one would think to stop Voldemort's two most faithful followers and ask what they're doing."

"So let me get this straight," Ron said slowly, his voice controlled. "While we're outside fighting for our lives, for the wizarding world, Draco fucking _Malfoy _is going to get the mirror, destroy it, come out, and say, 'It's all good, Potter, you can get old Voldy'?" He threw up his hands. "You've got to be kidding, Harry!"

"Hermione will be with him," Harry reminded with almost a ghost of a smile. Almost. "And, no, they're going to have to bring the mirror out to me. There's only one sword of Gryffindor."

The Order looked relieved that Harry had some reservations about Draco Malfoy's loyalty.

"Well, I wouldn't say it's a brilliant plan," Ron began.

"But it's a plan," Harry said.

"It's a rather shaky one, Harry," Kingsley said thoughtfully. "We aren't one hundred percent sure that the mirror is the last Horcrux."

Harry began pacing again. "When Hermione and Malfoy came here and told us about the mirror, she called it the _last_ Horcrux, aside from the snake." He looked at them. "Didn't that strike you as odd?"

Confused, the Order shook their heads.

"It _is_ the last one, isn't it?" Fred said. "Or did I miss something?"

Harry smiled somewhat bitterly. "We never told them we got the cup. That must mean Voldemort can tell when a Horcrux is destroyed." He ignored the looks of horror on their faces. "I think Voldemort's tired of this cat and mouse game. Why keep the last two Horcruxes by his side instead of hiding them like the others? No, he's finished letting us look for them. He wants us to come to him."

"Then why are we giving him exactly what he wants?" Ginny cried. "Let's call it all off! Try to get more people in to help! Move headquarters if he's closing in on us!"

"No, Ginny," Harry said steadily. "We can't put it off any longer. We are the 'only remaining members of the glorious Order of the Phoenix, last defenders of the wizarding world'." He looked at Ron as he quoted him.

Ron nodded once with iron resolution. "I'm with you to whatever end, Harry. We all are." He glared at the Order as if to say 'or else'.

"Harry..." Ginny protested.

"No, Ginny," he repeated. "Like Voldemort, I'm tired of this cat and mouse game as well. We start the final preparations. In a few days, we launch our attack. Win or lose, it will be our final one."

* * *

"Hermione dear, would you come with me for a moment?" Pansy leant conspiratorially toward her over the refreshments table.

Hermione could see no way out. "I'd _love_ to."

Pansy led her into one of the smaller drawing rooms. Hermione wondered tiredly what—if anything—was going on underneath the bobbed hair and behind the heavily lined eyes. She expected to see the usual group of girls waiting for them in the room, but the only person there was—

"Good evening, Blaise," she said warmly, extending her hand towards him.

He shook it coldly instead of raising it to his lips as was his wont. Pansy snapped the door shut behind her and stalked over to stand next to Blaise. Hermione had never seen them in such close proximity to each other. In fact, they seemed to make it a point to stay at least 50 meters from each other at all times ... unless they were forced together. Hermione suddenly had a very good idea what this whole confrontation was about.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked innocently.

"Don't act so clueless, Granger," Pansy said. "Did you honestly think that I would stand by and let you sabotage my relationship with Draco, you selfish little bitch?"

"Or that you could just stand up the owner of the wizarding world's most prestigious bank?" Blaise added.

"It's the _only_ bank in the wizarding world, Blaise," she reminded him softly.

"That's beside the point," Pansy snapped, advancing towards Hermione. "Did you honestly think that an uppity, little Mudblood like you could keep Draco Malfoy all to yourself? You're having delusions of grandeur too big even for your bushy head, Granger! Draco might have brainwashed what's left of the wizarding world, but _I_ remember." She laughed. "You were nothing before you married Draco, you will be nothing after I take your place. You will never be anything more than a filthy, little whore! Show her her place, Blaise."

In one stride, Blaise had closed the distance between them. His hands clamped down on her arms forcefully. Hermione stiffened but did not try to escape the iron grip as he pulled her body flush against his own.

"Look at him," Pansy ordered.

Hermione stubbornly kept her gaze fixed on the Z-shaped clasp of his robes. His hands loosened their grips, leaving behind their black-and-blue prints on her white skin. Before Hermione could take a step back, one hand snaked around her waist, keeping her in place, while another went to her hair, knocking out the jeweled combs and pins and sending her hair tumbling down, though Voldemort's tiara stayed in place. Hermione could not keep from gasping in pain when his hand grasped her curls and pulled downwards, forcing her to look up at him so that he could force his lips on hers.

Hermione closed her eyes, determined to endure in silence and deny Blaise and Pansy any sick pleasure they might get from seeing her humiliation. But before any contact was made, something interrupted Blaise's advance.

Suddenly Blaise was no longer anywhere near her. She felt a searing heat cut through the air beside her, and a bright light blazed through her closed eyelids. Hermione stumbled backward, but a gentle yet firm hand on her back kept her steady.

"Draco, honestly, she's just a Mudblood," Pansy said, with an affected little laugh that only betrayed her terror.

"You will sincerely regret it if you call her that once more, Pansy. She's not a Mudblood. She's my wife."

Draco's voice was ice-cold and completely unyielding. He was standing right next to her, but for some reason Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at him. She looked instead at Blaise, who was lying unconscious against the wall, looking very much like he'd been thrown across the room.

"I don't understand you anymore, Draco! You've been different since you married her!" Pansy said. "It doesn't make any sense! Unless you actually—"

"You and Blaise are no longer welcome in my home. Leave as soon as you can revive him. And tell Blaise that if he ever comes near her again, I will kill him."

And there was no doubt in anyone's mind, not even Hermione's, that he would do just that.


	20. Plan

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 20: Plan**

_Plan: A strategy used by a chess player to make optimal use of his advantages in a specific position while minimizing the impact of his positional disadvantages._

Wednesday, December 24, 2003

* * *

"Will you get up already, you utterly useless piece of trash?" Pansy shrieked at her husband, who was still sprawled against the wall.

"Why? Need my help getting you out of this one?" Blaise snapped acidly as he groggily inched his way into a sitting position. "This was all your idea, Pansy! Another one of your brilliant plans, and I was stupid enough to go along with it! Well, I won't fall with you this time! We're getting a divorce! Thank Merlin we didn't do the Unbreakable like you mother wanted us to!"

"You're every bit as involved as me!" Pansy snarled. "And if you'll just shut up and listen to me, you'll see that we're not going to fall."

Blaise gave her a calculating look as he rubbed the back of his head. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.

"If we tell the Dark Lord what happened tonight, he'll make Draco act properly! You'll have the Mudblood, and I'll have the Malfoy!"

Blaise laughed in derision. "I don't want her enough to risk my life for her. Only you would view Draco's bed as the ultimate goal, Pansy. And here I was giving you much more credit, thinking this was part of an elaborate ploy for power."

"Breaking up his fairytale marriage is our key to power. We were his closest friends before she burst in on the scene. She's turning him against us, probably using spells and potions—"

"Ha! As if Draco Malfoy would be fooled by spells and potions. You should know, Pansy. You've tried them."

Pansy glared at him but decided to overlook his comment. "Don't you remember the prophecy? The reason we had to grovel at his feet when we were growing up?"

"You mean the one about Draco being the next Dark lord?" Blaise asked uncertainly. "I thought that canceled out once the Dark Lord returned."

"Don't be silly, you fool! Prophecies don't cancel out," Pansy groaned in exasperation. "But with that Mudblood in the picture, we're in danger of being ignored when he finally comes to power."

"He's already _in_ power, and I highly doubt he's going to ignore _this_," Blaise drawled.

"Well, what do you want me to do!" Pansy burst into hysterical tears. "He's slipping through my fingers, Blaise! A few weeks ago, I was so close! I thought finally, after all these years—!"

"Sit down before you hurt yourself," Blaise said tiredly. She threw herself into the nearest chair, still sobbing wildly. A few moments passed, and her sobs began to quiet down. "Don't you think you ought to give it all up, Pans?" he said suddenly. She choked on a sob, startled by the idea. "You've gone after him for years, and he's never even given you a second glance."

"I'm not giving up!" Blaise was startled by the resolution in her voice as all trace of her tears disappeared. "He's given me no other choice. I have to summon them! And _they'll_ make sure he won't forget me."

"Who are you talking about?" Blaise asked apprehensively.

Pansy's eyes glittered. "I'm talking about Draco's father and godfather. They'll point Draco in the right direction, and they'll put me where I belong—right beside him."

Pansy turned to leave the room, but Blaise caught her by the wrist. His expression was earnest.

"You can't be serious, Pansy!" he hissed. "Have you forgotten the Dark Lord? He banished them! He'll kill them the minute they step foot in the country, and then kill you, too, for asking them to come!"

"I don't care!" she cried. "Draco is supposed to be mine! We've were promised to each other when we were three years old! And if I have to double cross Death Eaters, defy the Dark Lord, or even resurrect Albus Dumbledore himself to get him, I will! I have to stop him before he realizes he's in love with that Mudblood!"

"Draco's not in love with her," Blaise scoffed.

"Oh, you don't think so?" Pansy cried, her voice reaching a painful crescendo. "Haven't you seen the way he watches her when he thinks no one is looking? Haven't you noticed that no ballroom is big enough for him to cross to claim her for the first dance?"

Blaise sighed. "Pans, that's etiquette. You _have_ to dance the first dance with your wife."

"Then you don't see the way he seems to _surround _her when they're moving through a crowd, somehow making way for her but also making sure no one pushes her from behind? She's a damned little pretender who doesn't even realize what she's got! Well, I'll make her pay for her ungratefulness!"

Blaise tried to inject their conversation with an ounce of sanity. "Do you honestly think Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape can help you do that?" he asked gravely.

Pansy's eyes were cold. "Well, you didn't, and no one else will. They have everything to gain and nothing to lose if Draco comes into power. They'll help me get rid of Granger, once and for all." She shot him one last look of disdain before striding from the room.

* * *

Hermione and Draco were in the soothing darkness of their private rooms. She was sitting down, her face buried in her hands as she remembered how to breathe.

Though she hadn't once looked at him, she knew that Draco was standing still as a statue by the windows, waiting for her to break the silence.

Limply, she let her hands fall into her lap, but her eyes remained fixed on the floor. She was unexpectedly very afraid to look at him ... afraid to see the anger that she had heard in his voice downstairs ... afraid that he felt any of that anger toward her ... afraid to figure out why what he thought of her mattered so much...

Her gaze slowly traveled to his face. It was completely devoid of emotion.

Sensing her movement, Draco swiftly turned round to look at her. "Granger, I..."

His voice trailed off into silence. There was none of the explosive anger she had heard downstairs, but anger was still there, only internalized, tormenting him. And suddenly this was worse.

"Draco, _what have you done?_"

Draco was leaning back his whole weight against the window as if daring it to crack beneath him. His head was tilted upwards, eyes directed away from her and into the shadows of the lofty ceiling.

"I don't know," he said simply. But there was no hint of remorse in his voice, just faint curiosity. "I knew from the beginning Blaise would go after you. It's acceptable, it's expected. I should have just let it happen." One movement and his eyes were locked onto hers. "But I couldn't. Not with you."

Hermione had gone pale. "But to risk it all, to put _everything _we've worked for on the line just so you can keep your word to Ron that you wouldn't let anyone harm—"

"You think this is about Weasley?" he asked incredulously, the volume of his voice deafening in comparison to his previous murmurs and her strained whisper. "I guess you would," he added thoughtfully, calm once more. "But believe it or not, Granger, Weasley was the farthest thing from my mind tonight. I stopped Blaise for only one person: you. I couldn't... That is to say, I don't think I could have stood it if he..."

For the second time that night, his voice faded to silence.

"Draco..." Hermione started, though she was not sure what she was going to say.

"Don't," he said quietly. Hermione's eyes grew wide at the tone of his voice, at the internal anger bleeding through his words. "I—"

Then he was clutching his forearm and she was on her feet, turned toward the door, expecting Voldemort to come sweeping through at any second, her body angled so that he could not have a clear shot at Draco.

"Hermione," he said gently, his fingertips on her shoulder to turn her around to face him. "He's just summoning me."

"Don't go," she said suddenly, her voice hard.

He almost looked amused. Almost. "The Dark Lord calls. How can I possibly stay?"

"_I'm_ asking you to."

The hint of amusement died immediately. "You don't understand what you're asking."

"But I do!" she insisted. "He must know now what's happened. Someone from the party would have heard and told him, or Pansy and Blaise themselves! This whole time, it's as if he's been waiting for a slip-up on our part, and now it's come. We might be able to get away. Don't go to him."

"And then what? Hide in some basement for years, waiting for someone else to save us? And what of the Order? Abandon them now? No, Granger, you don't understand what you're asking," he repeated.

"They've survived this long," Hermione said, though she sounded less sure now.

"Why does it matter to you so much?" he asked, his gaze intense as he closed the distance between them. Then, that internal pain again as he added, "Why now?"

"Because if I make it out of this alive, then you should too," she whispered. "I want you to. I _need_—"

"Don't," he said again. His own lips hovered inches away from her own. "Just for the record, I never meant for this to happen," he whispered, moving ever closer. The torment in his voice was even clearer. "I never _dreamed_..."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, grasping vainly at thin air as he silently Disapparated.


	21. Desperado

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 21: Desperado**

_Desperado: A piece that seems determined to give itself up, typically either to bring about stalemate or to sell itself as dearly as possible in a situation where both sides have hanging pieces._

Thursday, December 25, 2003

* * *

"We've just received a rather interesting missive from Miss Parkinson."

"You mean Madam Zabini?"

"She's looking to take on a different name."

"Your own?"

"More precisely, my son's."

"I was under the impression that the former Miss Granger now held that enviable title."

"That jumped-up Mudblood bitch has always been more trouble than she's worth."

"She is worth quite a lot, if prophecies and the Dark Lord are to be believed."

"The sooner she's gone, the better."

"That may be sooner than you think. If—when the Dark Lord wins, he will be the first to get rid of her."

"Either way, she will have to go. Her very existence threatens Draco's position."

"Hmm."

"You're not looking to back out now, are you? This is becoming quite a habit of yours."

"We wait until the Order makes its final move. It won't be long now."

* * *

It had been exactly 9 hours, 37 minutes, and 19 seconds since Draco had answered the Dark Lord's summons.

Hermione expected every moment that he would return, stroll in with that annoying swagger and arrogant smirk, tease her about waiting up for him, which she would then deny before asking what color he was wearing for a Christmas luncheon with the Greengrasses.

And for every moment that this did not happen, she expected that she would receive word—via owl, house-elf, Death Eater, the Order even—that he was dead, that Voldemort was now coming for her, that it was all over.

She didn't know when her guests had left, and she didn't care. All she cared about was that Draco would walk through those doors right now. She wouldn't even deny that she had waited for him. She would never, ever say another snarky thing to him ever again if he walked through those doors _this second_.

When light suddenly broke over the horizon, the reflection of a tired, haunted woman stared back at her, just beside the rising sun. And then she knew what she had to do.

Hermione stood slowly, straightening her spine until her posture was as flawless as Draco had trained her. She moved with firm but measured steps to her rooms and began getting ready as she would any other morning. Her movements were unhurried, if a little automatic, as she re-did her make-up, recast her Glamour Charms, adjusted the tiara on her head, and changed into her Death Eater robes.

Then she Apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, where everything was uncharacteristically still and silent.

"_Homenum revelio_."

Only one human life form registered throughout the entire house. Hermione's already frayed nerves frayed a little further. She ventured silently toward the kitchen, where the person was—

She fell to the ground just in time for a spell to whizz over her head, taking out a chunk of the wall above her. She scrambled into the study for cover.

"Come out here, ya filthy Death Eater! No one attacks the Order on my watch!"

"Mad-Eye! It's me! It's Hermione," she said, stepping back into the hallway. "Where's—?"

She had to duck into the study again as he sent another curse hurtling her way. "You can't fool me, Granger!" She could hear him limping down the hall toward her. "I know a traitor when I see one!"

With each word, he sent a Bombardment Charm at the wall separating them until it had been reduced to rubble. His eye no longer worked, so he compensated by obliterating the physical barrier between them. She backed farther into the study to avoid being hit by the flying pieces of wood, stone, and plaster.

"Moody, wait!" She stepped into the middle of the room so that he could see her clearly. "It's just me. It's Hermione. I'm not a traitor. I'm—"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Her wand flew out of her hand. She watched it sail across the room and land behind the old, worn mahogany desk. She held her hands out in front of her, showing she was now completely unarmed.

"Mad-Eye, _please_," she entreated. "It's me. It's Hermione. Don't—!"

She dove behind the old, worn mahogany desk just in time to avoid being hit by another curse. She grabbed her wand before curling into a tight ball, shielding her head from the splinters of wood raining down on her. She forced herself to stay completely still and silent as the debris settled.

She could clearly hear Moody's labored breathing from across the room, the tell-tale drag of his wooden leg against the threadbare carpet as he took a tentative step toward her. She shifted silently, preparing to spring to her feet. Just one step closer...

"_Stupefy!_" she cried, popping up from behind the desk long enough to aim and fire.

Belying his age and physical limitations, Moody dodged her spell and returned one of his own in one fluid motion.

"_Reducto!_"

The desk she was hiding behind and leaning against disintegrated into a pile of dust. She sprang toward the gaping fissure where the door and wall had been, shooting another spell toward Moody along the way.

"_Petrificus totalus!_"

It missed him by a hair and hit the bookshelf behind him, sending it and the books it held toppling forward. Instead of trying to save himself, Moody tried to hit her with another curse.

"_Incendio__!_"_  
_

She ducked under the jet of fire and sent another in his direction.

"_Immobulus!_"

This was not aimed at Moody but at the books and shelf about to collapse on top of him. Moody stared at the suspended tomes in disbelief.

Hermione had taken refuge behind the lumpy, moth-eaten couch, waiting for his next attack, but it did not come.

"Granger?" He sounded different, calmer and much more like the Auror Moody of old.

She raised her head tentatively over the edge of the sofa.

"Mad—?"

"_Crucio!_"

Pain like she had only known once before consumed her entire being. She fell to the floor, limbs contorting and twitching uncontrollably. She could hear Mrs. Black screaming, no words this time, just an incessant, high-pitched shriek that seemed to channel her own pain. It took her a moment to realize she was hearing herself.

Grimmauld Place dissolved from around her and was replaced by Malfoy Manor, not the one that she now was mistress of but the one of five years ago, when she had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. The memory of her torture there was one she had suppressed, hidden away in the far corner of her mind like everything else that was weak, but the Cruciatus brought it forth, ripping open a wound she thought long healed.

She was sobbing, begging for it to end. They hadn't taken anything from her vault. It was a fake, just a fake. It wasn't the real sword of Gryffindor.

Then suddenly, miraculously, the pain stopped. Harry's and Ginny's pale, concerned faces swam above her. Her head lolled to the side, and she saw Kingsley and Lupin had pinned Moody, who was as breathless as she was, to what was left of the study wall, while Tonks held him at wandpoint. Ron stood in the middle of it all, obviously torn between going to Hermione and attacking Moody. Red sparks were shooting out of his wand.

"Ron," she rasped. "Don't."

Ron was at her side in seconds. Falling to his knees beside her, he pulled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth.

"Ron. Ron, it's all right. I'm all right," she assured him, wishing she sounded more convincing.

Harry's emerald green eyes held barely contained fury as they shifted from her to Moody.

"Get out," he said quietly.

"What?"

Everyone froze. Tonks lowered her wand as she looked at Harry in surprise. Kingsley and Lupin, too, seemed shocked, though they did not relax their hold on the old Auror.

"If you want to use Unforgivables, go join the Death Eaters!" Harry spat. "The Order doesn't use them, and now the Order has no use for you. Get out!"

"Harry, _no_," Hermione protested. "It was my fault. I came here unannounced, dressed like this—"

"She's a Death Eater!" Moody roared. "She's a traitor! Ask her! Look at her arm! She's Marked! She has to be! She's a Death Eater!"

"_GET OUT!_" Harry yelled, this time raising his wand.

"No, Harry, he's _right_," she said calmly. She rolled down her sleeve and revealed the Dark Mark.

An indescribable look came over Harry's face as he stared down at the intertwined skull and snake branded on her skin. His grip tightened around his wand until it seemed the wood would crack in his grasp.

"_Stupefy!_"

* * *

Draco has been training for this torture his whole life. His father had performed the Cruciatus on him more than once as punishment, when he had been old enough to match his father physically but not old enough to perform magic outside of school. He hadn't told Granger—the look on her face when he'd told her about being hung off the balcony by his ankles had been nothing short of horrified, and honestly, that had been one of the tamer things Lucius had done to him. Poor, innocent little Granger...

Hermione's face faded away and was replaced by Voldemort's. Really, when it came down to it, he preferred Granger's.

"Tell me, Draco, why did you really bring me Hermione Granger?"

"Because you asked me to, my lord."

Voldemort hit him with the Cruciatus once more. By the time he lifted the curse, Draco's limbs were aching and twitching uncontrollably, but he somehow managed not to give Voldemort the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

"Did you find her for me ... or for yourself?"

Draco spit out blood onto the floor. He had bit the inside of his cheek. "What are you talking about?" Draco rasped. "My lord?" he added, almost mockingly. Almost.

"You have been a model husband, Draco. Most devoted, most ... protective. I thought you were acting so because I had asked it of you, but the way you acted against the Zabinis went beyond anything I expected of you."

Voldemort leaned over Draco's prone form. "Do you think I know not about your prophecy? I have always recognized the similar ambition, the same ingredients for the same destiny in you, Draco, as was in myself. I would have thought you might be content being my second in command, but ambition does not stop short of the top, does it, Draco?

"Do you really think Hermione Granger can help you defeat me? That you can turn her into a weapon against me? You are too late. I have already transformed her into something beyond even her wildest dreams."

Draco pushed himself up. "What have you done to her?" he demanded hoarsely.

"Nothing you haven't helped me to do. I conquered the wizarding world, Draco, and now I will conquer you!"

And then the pain started again.

* * *

"How long?"

Hermione looked up from the goblet of Restorative Potion that Ginny had given her. She was sitting between Harry and Ron on the lumpy sofa, in the middle of the ruins of the study. It had been ages since she'd had both of them on either side of her, and it felt very fitting that they would be together like this again now, near the end.

Ginny and Tonks were standing a little removed from them. Lupin and Kingsley, returning from locking the Stunned Moody in one of the spare bedrooms, quietly re-entered the room.

"How long have I been Marked?" she clarified. "Months. Four, to be exact."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Harry asked quietly.

Her fingers fiddled with her discarded glove. They were wasting time. They needed to go save Draco _now._ But she also needed to explain and the Order needed to understand in case this was the last chance she ever had.

"Don't you know what Death Eaters have to do before they're Marked?" she asked softly.

"They ... they have to prove their loyalty to Voldemort," Ron said, confused.

"They have to kill," Harry elaborated.

Ginny faltered. "Who did you kill, Hermione?"

"Ernie Macmillan."

Hermione stared down at the swirling pink liquid in her goblet so she wouldn't see the looks of shock and horror on their faces.

"And that's why I didn't tell you," she whispered, still looking down. "He had been tortured, he was half-insane ... but those are just excuses. I still had a choice, and I chose to kill him."

"No," Lupin said firmly. "Hermione, that was the most merciful thing you could have done for him."

"This war has made us do things we aren't proud of, sometimes to each other," Kingsley reflected. "You should understand that more than any of us, Hermione."

Emotion welled up in her chest. "Why the sudden trust?" she demanded suddenly, desperately. "For months, for _years _none of you have trusted me."

"Because you saved Mad-Eye," Tonks said simply, "even when he was trying his best to hurt you, probably kill you. He was the one who used the Unforgivable, not you, and you're the one who's supposedly a Death Eater."

Hermione raised her forearm inchallenge. "Supposedly? Isn't this proof enough?"

"The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," Harry said. "And now we _know_ they can be both."

"Why are you dressed like that, anyway?" Ron asked bracingly. "You know better than to barge in here in full Death Eater costume when we have an off-his-rocker ex-Auror in the house."

They all were looking at her expectantly, and she realized how utterly alone she would be if they said 'no' to her now.

"He has Draco," she forced out, her voice breaking. "Voldemort summoned Draco last night, and he hasn't returned."

Silence greeted her words. Their expressions took on varying degrees of sadness and ... resignation.

"No, we have to help him!" she insisted. "We can't leave him there!"

Harry winced. "In a few days, maybe a week—"

"It'll be too late by then!"

"Hermione, we can't rush this!" Harry yelled, jumping to his feet and pacing in front of her. "This is our last chance, our _only _chance. If we mess this up—"

"You're as ready as you're ever going to be!" Hermione declared, getting to her feet as well, though legs still felt shaky. "Harry, I know you've been smuggling people in for weeks. A few more days isn't going to make a difference! Who else are you expecting to show up?"

He looked like a fish out of water for a moment. "No one," he finally admitted. "But there's still the strategy to figure out a-and—"

"—and I'm sure Ron already had that figured out weeks ago!" she said, rounding on the redhead.

Still seated on the couch, Ron's eyes darted from Harry to Hermione. "Well, yeah, but ... everybody could use more time to prepare..."

She looked around at the rest of the Order and saw they all were watching Harry, trying to take their cues from him. "This isn't about _them_ being ready at all, is it, Harry? This is about _you_ being ready." She looked at him imploringly. "Aren't you ready for it to end?"

"Hermione, he isn't ready," Ginny finally said, after a moment of painful silence.

"No, it's not that," Harry denied. "Just, _wait_, Hermione—"

"I'm tired of waiting."

She spoke quietly but with finality. She drew herself up, more Madam Malfoy than Hermione Granger. The tiara on her head and the ring on her finger glittered in the faint light.

"What you said about Death Eaters and good people doesn't apply just to me. If it applies to anyone at all, it applies to Draco Malfoy. He's the only reason any of us are still here today. The Order would have fallen long ago without his help, and now you refuse to help him." She drew on her glove, straightened her robes, and gave them her ultimatum: "If you're not coming with me, then I'm going to Voldemort by myself to try and save him."

They gawked at her.

"Don't be stupid, Hermione!" Harry snapped dismissively.

"I've never been stupid in my life," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to him. "Maybe I'll start now."

She turned to leave, but Kingsley and Lupin blocked her way. She had her wand pointed at them in a blink of an eye.

"Let me pass," she requested, with the same deadly calm. "I won't hesitate to use an Unforgivable this time."

Either they didn't believe her or they really didn't want her to go, but neither moved. She tightened her grip on her wand, then—

"She's right." Lupin looked over her head to Harry. "A few days, another week—it won't make a difference."

"We are as ready as we'll ever be," Kingsley affirmed.

"Every second that we wait is another second Voldemort could discover one of the groups, blow the whole plan to hell and back," Tonks chipped in.

"We ... we aren't going to change the strategy, mate," Ron said. "You said so yourself. And I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to come back as a ghost and haunt us for the rest of our lives, whining about how we didn't save him," he added.

"Harry, I go with whatever you say, I always do," Ginny said, reaching out to him. "But I believe in you ... and I believe you're ready."

He slowly intertwined their fingers, resolve gathering in his eyes as he looked from her, to the others, to Hermione.

"All right, Hermione." He gave her a small smile. "You win."

Her body sagged with relief for a moment. But when she looked up, her eyes mirrored his determination.

"No, Harry. _We_ do. We've _got_ to."


	22. Brilliancy

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 22: Brilliancy**

_Brilliancy: A spectacular and beautiful game of chess, generally featuring sacrificial attacks and unexpected moves. Brilliancies are not always required to feature sound play or the best moves by either side._

Thursday, December 25, 2003

* * *

"All right, everyone's in place and waiting for your signal," Ron said, scrambling to them in a half crouched position and dropping down by their side.

Harry and Hermione were laying on the ground on their stomachs, peeking over the top of a hill at the estate Voldemort had taken for his fortress.

"Everyone knows which incantation to use?" she double-checked.

"Yes, Hermione," Ron sighed, rolling his eyes at Harry. But there was a small smile on his lips, one echoed by Harry and one she found herself returning.

The old, easy, teasing familiarity they had lost along the years had been found. Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Implicit trust and friendship above all else. As it always had been.

They stayed there for a moment, black, red, and brown heads bowed together as they reflected on all they had been through. Then they slipped down to join Kingsley, Tonks, and Lupin at the foot of the hill. Ginny, after a last word to the team of Healers, joined them.

"All right, everyone, this is it," Harry said, looking around the small circle they formed. "Once we break down the protective barrier, Voldemort will hopefully come out to meet me."

"And the rest of us will be by your side to make sure you have a clear path to Lord Moldy-shorts," Tonks said staunchly. They all almost smiled. Almost.

"Except me," Hermione reminded, pulling on her hood. "I'll Apparate inside and pretend to be one of the Death Eaters arriving to help. I'll save Malfoy if-if he's…" her voice faltered. "... then I'll find the mirror and bring it out to you so you can destroy it," she finished. "Do you have—?"

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," Harry whispered, pressing something into her hand.

Was it really Christmas? The party at Malfoy Manor felt like ages ago. She looked down and couldn't see anything, but she could feel a slim, metal handle in her hand, rather like the hilt of a blade. Her eyes widened in recognition.

"No, _you're_ going to destroy the mirror, Hermione," he said, and she trembled under the weight of his trust. "It's all up to you, and I know you can do it. Take the sword."

"Harry, no," she protested, trying to pass it back to him. "What about the snake? It will most likely be by his side. You'll need something to kill it."

"It's a living thing. An _Avada_ will be strong enough to destroy it." He shook his head grimly. "Two Horcruxes, plus Voldemort. We must be insane."

"'Course we are," Ron said cheerfully. "That the only reason we're here with you, mate. We're all barking mad."

"Thanks," Harry said wryly. He glanced at Hermione, but she was staring at the mansion in the distance as if she could see through its walls. A strange, impossible thought crossed his mind. Perhaps that wasn't the only reason she was here...

"Harry, take it," she said firmly, pressing the sword back into his hand. "I've got my own source of basilisk venom."

She withdrew something from her robes. A length of cloth was wrapped several times around it, but that did nothing to hide its long, curved shape. This time, his eyes widened in recognition.

"Basilisk fang?" he asked. She nodded.

"How in the world did you get that?" Ron demanded.

"I was going to be the Headmistress of Hogwarts, remember?" she explained, with a sad smile. "I was able to get into the Chamber of Secrets and smuggle one out."

"Oh, did you learn Parseltongue just so you could open it?" Ron asked, looking like he wouldn't be surprised if her answer was 'yes'.

"No, it just ... opened for me," she said, frowning slightly at the memory. "Maybe it's one of the perks of being Headmistress."

Harry looked at her admiringly. "You always think of everything, don't you?"

"Let's hope," she murmured, her mind racing. What if she was wrong? What if the mirror wasn't a Horcrux? Voldemort would survive no matter what they did to him today, and there would be no next chance. It all would have been for nothing. So many would die because of her mistake—again. And they would lose the war, the wizarding world would be doomed.

"Stop." Harry's voice broke into her thoughts. "You're right, Hermione. You're always right. We're ready, and it's time." He looked around at the others. "I'll never, _never_ be able to say how much it means to me that you all stuck with me to the very end, that you're all here now."

"It has been our honor," Kingsley said solemnly, bowing his head to Harry.

"Your parents would have been very proud of you, Harry," Lupin said, grasping his hand.

"Right," Harry said, nodding once and pushing his emotions aside. "This is for them, for Sirius, for Dumbledore, for the Weasleys, for everyone who isn't with us anymore because of him."

Ginny slipped her hand into his. "Good luck," she whispered, repeating the first words she'd ever said to him.

"Let's finish this for all of them and for all us!" He raised his wand and pointed it in the direction of the mansion. "_Bombarda maxima!_"

Soon dozens of other spells joined his, shooting from all directions, lighting up the sky. Then—

"Hermione, it's not working!" Harry yelled.

From where she stood, a little behind them, she could see that even more clearly than he. It didn't make any sense! It was a powerful but simple protective charm. It should have shattered under the assault of dozens of witches and wizards trying to break through.

"Harry, we have to retreat!" Lupin urged. "We can't break down the barrier!"

_... between good and evil._

Hermione gasped, the words coming to her as if from a dream. The prophecy, she realized. _Her_ prophecy.

_Born not of our world, she will help decide its fate ... and break down the barrier between good and evil..._

"Of course…" she breathed. "No, no!" she cried, running up to Harry and grabbing him to stop him from calling everyone back. "I can do it!"

"What?!" Ron yelled. "Hermione, there are 70 of us trying to break through. How are you going to—?"

"Trust me!" she begged. "I can do it!"

She moved forward, but Harry held her back. "Hermione, don't! We have to fall back!" He looked at her helplessly. "You don't even know if Malfoy's still—"

She yanked herself out of his grasp and stumbled back a few steps, ending up closer to the mansion than anyone else had dared to go.

"No, Hermione!" Ron said hoarsely, lunging after her. Ginny grabbed his arm and stopped him from following her.

"Trust me, I can do it," she repeated, trying to convince herself. She turned around and stepped right up to the edge of the barrier, the Order watching in horrified silence.

"Harry?" She paused and looked over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips. "Merry Christmas."

Then she raised her wand and brought down the sky.

* * *

The pain suddenly stopped as Voldemort broke off the Cruciatus once more, leaving Draco shaking on the floor. The Dark Lord looked up at the spells trying to break through the protective barrier he had cast himself and smiled.

"Ah, I see I don't have to ask my next question. It seems the Order has come to save its most loyal member. Did you think I wouldn't notice, Draco, that every time I asked you to do something, the Order would always show up just in time to foil our plans? What a curious, fortuitous coincidence! You thought yourself so clever, didn't you, Draco? Taking the Dark Lord for a fool?" He gestured out at the barrier, which still hadn't broken. "It seems Harry Potter is a bigger fool than I ever took him for."

"Potter wouldn't come for me in a million years," Draco said honestly. Granger, on the other hand...

Through his hazy gaze, Draco saw Voldemort reel backward as if he were being hit by an invisible force. Straining to look out the window, he saw the protective magic slowly but surely burning away.

"No, it's not supposed to work that way," Voldemort whispered to himself.

"And it seems Hermione Granger is a stronger witch than you ever imagined," Draco said in a low, hoarse voice that gained strength with every word.

The doors banged open, and Bellatrix swept in, followed by the rest of the Death Eaters. A few stragglers were still Apparating in.

"My lord!" She flung herself down at his feet, her eyes widening as she saw Draco lying there as well.

Voldemort quickly stepped between them. "Ah, my faithful," he said silkily, his voice caressing them even as he caressed Bellatrix's cheek. "You've come to me in my hour of need."

"We lay down our wands and our lives for you, my lord," Bellatrix breathed, shaking with barely contained excitement.

"I know, Bella, I know. As you have always done." He leaned down as if to kiss her, then stopped just short of her lips to whisper, "Finish them."

The Death Eaters let out a roar of laughter and delight. As one, they scattered, some leaving the room by blasting through the windows to meet the forces of the Order, which were advancing from all sides. Bella, still reeling from her close encounter with Voldemort, was the last to leave.

"Well, Draco," Voldemort said, the hem of his robes skimming over Draco's body. "How does it feel knowing everything you've done will have been for nothing?"

"'Nothing' is a relative term, my lord," Draco said, staring up at Voldemort without a flicker of fear. "It will all have been worth it to get to do this."

He spat at Voldemort's bare feet.

Voldemort kicked him and gave him one last dose of the Cruciatus. "Nagini! Finish him." The snake slithered into the room..

"You, hang his body from the parapet when she's through," Voldemort ordered a late-coming Death Eater as he strode from the room. "Then hang yourself from there as well for your tardiness."

The snake was circling Draco, coming closer and closer with each pass. He had seen it do this dozens of times before, playing with its food before it struck, dangling hope for as long as possible before ending it all with one vicious, bloody bite. His hands reached out for anything at all to fight back with, but there was nothing. The snake was beginning to hiss as it zeroed in, baring its fangs, already dripping with venom.

The Death Eater strode into the room, his wand in hand.

"Do you think the Dark Lord will reward you for killing me?" Draco taunted with the only weapon he had left, his words. "Don't be stupid. He'll string you from the parapet himself, regardless."

"I've never been stupid in my life," the Death Eater replied, raising its wand and pointing it at Draco. "_Avada Kedavra!_"


	23. Armageddon

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 23: Armageddon**

_Armageddon: A game which White must win to win the match, but which Black only needs to draw to win the match._

Thursday, December 25, 2003

* * *

The Killing Curse hit the snake but seemed to have no effect on it whatsoever. The scales simply absorbed the green light, but it was enough to distract it from Draco. It turned and lashed out at the Death Eater, who managed to just avoid being bitten by dropping to the ground and rolling out of the way.

The Death Eater fumbled for something in its robes as the snake turned and prepared to strike again. All reason must have left Draco after prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus because the next thing he knew, he was lunging at the snake, stopping it from biting the Death Eater.

They were a tangled mass of limbs wrapped around the undulating, writhing column of slippery snakeskin. Draco had no idea where the head of the snake was, but he was prepared at any moment to feel its fangs piercing his skin. It never happened.

The Death Eater gave a great cry, and suddenly, the snake stopped struggling. It began to shake, vibrating and growing hot to the touch. Draco untangled himself from the snake's coils and scrambled backward, away from it. The snake was still hissing and spitting, but more like it was gasping for air. There was a puncture wound near the snake's neck, and a pool of black blood oozed from it as it flopped and spasmed on the floor.

The Death Eater had been thrown across the room and was breathing heavily, a strange curved dagger still grasped tightly in his hand. It started smoking slightly, and the Death Eater dropped it as if burnt. A moment later, both the dagger and the snake spontaneously combusted with a great burst of flame. Both Draco and the Death Eater recoiled and threw themselves out of the radius of the fire.

"What the hell—?"

"I am going to _kill_ Harry Potter!" the Death Eater declared, stomping out a bit of flame on the hem of its robes. "An _Avada_ will be strong enough, indeed!"

"_Granger?!_"

"Were you expecting someone else?" Hermione asked, unmasking herself and lowering her hood.

He grabbed her and shook her. Hard. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What does it look like? Rescuing you, of course."

"Have you gone utterly insane?" he demanded. "You've put everything in jeopardy! How could you be so stupid?"

"If I remember correctly, you were the one who was stupid in the first place," she snapped, pulling herself out of his clutches. Her eyes flashed. "You're welcome, by the way!"

She took two steps toward the Mirror of Erised before his hand shot out and grasped her wrist. He pulled her back toward him, and she fell against his chest. His arms held her in place there, and she held him up.

"How in the world did you get Potter and the Order off their asses to come save me?" he asked, staring deeply into her eyes so that he could see the truth there, regardless of what she said.

She stuck her chin out half in defiance, half because she needed to tilt back her head to look at him. "I told them I would come by myself if they didn't come with me."

He tightened his grip on her, half admiration, half exasperation. "And why in the world would you do that?"

"You mean, why in the world would I start a war to save you, Malfoy?" she clarified, her voice quite steady as she looked up at him with an odd mixture of vulnerability and certainty. "Why in the world do you think?"

They stared at each other, allowing the truth they had hid from one another to finally shine through, loud and clear.

"Just for the record, I never meant for this to happen," she whispered, repeating his own words back to him. "I never dreamed..."

His lips crashed down onto hers. They kissed fiercely, battling for dominance, neither allowing the other to gain the advantage. In that moment, nothing mattered but each other, not the battle raging outside, not Voldemort, not the Order, not _air_….

She caught him when he began to fall and backed him up against the wall.

"Mmm, Granger," he murmured, trying to capture her lips again. "Kinky…"

"Stop, Malfoy," she said, almost affectionately. Almost. She eased him down to the floor and smoothed back his usually flawless hair from his forehead, and he leaned into her cool touch. She slapped his cheeks slightly when his eyes began to roll back in his head.

"Didn't know you were into that," he slurred. "Mmm, do it again, harder—"

"Open your eyes, Malfoy, or I'll tell everyone you fainted after I destroyed a Horcrux."

That came through the haze that had settled around his brain. Draco shook his head to clear it. "Wait, what do you mean 'destroyed a Horcrux'?" he asked lazily.

She ignored him. "Are you all right?" she asked, running a hand over his arms to check for any broken bones. "Are you badly hurt anywhere?"

He frowned. "What did you do to the snake?" There were a lot of things that didn't make sense at the moment, but the spontaneous combustion really didn't make any sense at all.

"Basilisk fang," she said shortly, inspecting a cut near his temple. "Here, drink this, it'll help you get your strength back."

"Where did you—?" He choked on his words as she tipped a vial of Restorative Potion into his mouth. "Basilisk venom wouldn't make it explode like that," he persisted.

"The snake was a Horcrux," she explained. "No, just sit there for a moment and let the potion take effect."

"The snake was a _Horcrux_?" he hissed, his anger steadying him more than the potion. "You mean to tell me he made six? Potter's only ever talked about five."

"He split his soul into seven pieces, placed six in Horcruxes. The last is in Voldemort himself," Hermione explained, checking his pupils were dilating and contracting properly.

"Granger." This time her name came out more as a growl. He caught her hands to stop her from continuing her check-up. "I. Am. Fine," he bit out, getting to his feet, albeit shakily. "Damn Potter and his secrets! How do we know he didn't make 20?"

"No, there's only one left," she assured him, standing as well. "And it's here." The mirror reflected the light of a wayward spell, as if reminding them of its presence. She gripped his arm convulsively. They were _so_ close.

"Oh, Draco…" she murmured.

Unbeknownst to both of them, they began to levitate upward, hovering about a foot off the ground. She could just see into the corner...

"You know, it doesn't sound right when you call me that," he said vaguely, staring at the mirror that held all of their fates within its old, gold-gilt frame. He could just peer into it—

An explosion jolted the ground as they came back to earth, reminding them of who they were, where they were, and what they had to do.

"Malfoy, we've got to get the mirror to Harry," Hermione said urgently. "He has the sword of Gryffindor. It's the only thing that can destroy it now."

"All right, Granger," he said, pulling her with him as he ran across the room. "You started a war for me? Then let's finish it."

* * *

Voldemort stepped outside, reveling in the chaos that surrounded him. The Order had brought more people with them than he had expected, but it didn't matter. It wouldn't be enough. Nothing could stop him now.

He didn't have to search for Harry. The Boy Who Lived was standing there, waiting for him. His most faithful had formed a wide, protective ring around him, keeping everyone else away. Voldemort's lip curled as he took in the Chosen One. So ... _ordinary_. So ... disappointing. Dressed in Muggle clothes, nothing to set him apart from anyone else.

"Hello, Tom," Harry said pleasantly.

"Harry! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"No pleasure, just unfinished business."

"Yes, we always seem to have that, don't we, Harry?" Voldemort said, unhurriedly closing the distance between them. He gestured vaguely at those around them. "Are these the only remaining members of the glorious Order of Phoenix, last defenders of the wizarding world? Oh, Harry, how like you to lead your friends to their deaths!"

"We'd rather die than ever yield to you!" Ron declared.

"Then I shall oblige you!"

He sent the _Avada_ hurtling toward Ron, but Harry and the rest of the Order successfully deflected it. Then, without hesitation, Harry and Voldemort launched into duel, their spells flying at one another faster than the eye could see. When two of their spells collided in midair, the resulting explosion sent both of them flying backward and off their feet.

Harry felt pain shoot through him, behind his neck, and for a moment he thought he'd been hit, though a quick check found him to be fine. Voldemort was having trouble regaining his balance as well. His hand, too, was checking the back of his neck.

Harry felt hope rise in his chest. Hermione must have destroyed a Horcrux. He scanned the ground for any sign of the snake, but Voldemort was already advancing, wand raised, as if nothing had happened, and they began to duel again.

It was fast, and it was furious. They were perfectly matched in their determination and desperation to destroy one another: Voldemort because he was never going to succumb to death, not after he had done unspeakable things, ripped apart his soul and reconstructed his body, to defy it; Harry because so many had given their lives for him, because so many other lives depended on him, because so many people believed in him.

Then, for a heart-stopping second, all seemed lost. He stepped on uneven ground and stumbled, giving Voldemort the opportunity to hit him with a spell that sliced open his arm and sent his wand flying from his fingers. Pressing his advantage, Voldemort hurled the _Avada Kedavra_ at him. Harry desperately grabbed at the only other weapon he had, raising it just in time to block the curse from hitting his chest. The Killing Curse shattered the Concealment Charm around the sword of Gryffindor, but the blade absorbed the jet of green light. The shock of it reverberated up his arms.

Voldemort seemed completely unfazed by this turn of events. "I didn't know this was going to be that kind of a duel, Harry. I seem to have misplaced my own sword," he jeered.

"You seem to have misplaced us as well."

Harry didn't turn, but everyone else did to stare as Draco announced his and Hermione's sudden arrival. They had appeared silently behind Harry, holding the Mirror of Erised between them. He really needed to find out how they Apparated without a sound.

"Well, Potter?" Draco drawled. "What are you waiting for?"

Swinging the blade so that it sang through the air, Harry whirled around and shattered the Mirror of Erised.

The mirror broke like any normal mirror, the glass falling free of the frame in sharp pieces and falling into a sparkling mess onto the grass. There was no flames, no burst of magic, no sign that a piece of Voldemort's soul had been destroyed, nothing.

The mirror wasn't a Horcrux.

Harry didn't have time to despair. Laughing his high-pitched, spine-shuddering laugh at their mistake, Voldemort attacked. Draco tossed Harry his wand just in time for him to fight back.

The air had changed. The advance of the Order's troops was now being checked as the Death Eaters' reinforcements arrived: giants, werewolves, all manner of other creatures. And though many in the Order's ranks didn't understand what the mirror had been about, they knew something had gone wrong, and their fighting began to take on a hint of desperation and despair.

Hermione had fallen to her knees beside the ruins of the Mirror of Erised, staring down at the shattered glass in disbelief, hardly knowing there was a battle still being fought around her. She had been wrong, _she had been wrong_. The prophecy had been right: She had helped decide the wizarding world's fate, and she had doomed everyone. It was all her fault.

"Granger, get up!" Draco roared, dueling furiously with his uncle. At his wife's urging, Rodolphus Lestrange had attacked Hermione while she was in a trance-like state, but Draco had blocked the spell and returned fire. Many of the other Death Eaters were jumping at the chance to try to finish off the Malfoys, but the Order was fending them off … for the time being.

Bellatrix was getting the upper hand on Tonks. A few feet away, Lupin was locked in duel with Dolohov. They were losing ground quickly, being forced to backtrack until they were cornered against one another. Lupin and Tonks braced themselves for almost certain death, their only consolation being that they were together—

A sudden blast from behind threw both Bellatrix and Dolohov across the field. Their savior limped into view, his staff in one hand, wand in the other.

"Mad-Eye!" Tonks cried in relief.

"Taught you better than that," the old Auror growled at her as he pushed past them. "Should've just let you die after you locked me up," he added to Lupin.

The werewolf laid a hand on Moody's shoulder in gratitude. "We knew nothing could keep you in for long."

Moody pushed his hand away impatiently. "Where is she?" he demanded, scanning the field.

"Who?"

He'd already found her. He raised his wand and aimed. "_Crucio!_"

The Cruciatus hit Hermione square in the back. She let out an inhuman shriek as pain penetrated her skin and ate all the way down to the bone. She writhed on a bed of broken glass, the pieces of the mirror cutting her skin.

Tonks and Lupin tried to get Moody to break the spell, but he struck his staff on the ground and blasted them away like he had Bellatrix and Dolohov. Kingsley tried to deflect the curse and suffered the same fate.

Draco saw it happening out of the corner of his eye. With a yell, he hit his uncle with an uncontrolled burst of magic that send him flying 50 yards away. Not bothering to see where he landed, Draco turned and aimed at Moody without hesitation.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

The ex-Auror fell to the ground, dead.

Draco turned in surprise. The spell had not come from his wand, nor from anyone else in the Order, nor from a Death Eater. It had come from Voldemort himself.


	24. Checkmate

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 24: Checkmate**

_Checkmate: A position in which a player's king is in check and the player cannot move out of check. A player whose king is checkmated loses the game._

Thursday, December 25, 2003

* * *

Voldemort began to laugh. Soft at first, then louder, until all could hear him. Everyone and everything stopped.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Harry?" he taunted. "Haven't I given myself away?"

Harry looked from Moody's body to Hermione's still-twitching form and back to Voldemort. No, he didn't understand. He didn't want to.

Voldemort gave one last laugh. "You see, Harry, I _have_ given myself away," he said, with a significant look at Hermione, "I've given a little part of myself to one who is worthy."

"What have you done to her?" Harry asked in a tone of terrible calm. He held his wand in one hand, the sword of Gryffindor in the other, and the promise of certain death for Voldemort in his eyes.

"Nothing I haven't done before." Voldemort's hand shot out, sending a ribbon of magic toward Ginny, hoisting her up into the air and pulling her toward him. "It's always the women in your life who must suffer for you, isn't it, Harry? She looks very like your mother, very beautiful, though how you could choose her when you had Hermione Granger in your grasp, I know not."

"Let her go!" Harry yelled, his eyes filling with terror as Voldemort continue to pull Ginny closer to him.

Voldemort released Ginny without ceremony, and she fell to the ground, shaken but otherwise unhurt. Her brothers closed rank around her, and seeing that she was all right, Harry pushed away his fear.

"What are you saying, Tom?"

"I once used your Ginny in the same way, but she was … _ordinary_, nothing truly remarkable. Hermione Granger, on the other hand…" His hand shot out again, this time toward Hermione. Instead of hoisting her up into the air like he had Ginny, the ribbon of magic pulled Hermione almost gently to her feet. Almost. She swayed in place but stayed standing. "You see, Harry, I have taken from you something you never appreciated and turned her into something … _more_." Voldemort bowed to Hermione. "My dear, I said I would make you a queen. _My _queen."

Hermione gasped softly. The last Horcrux, she'd had it with her this whole time, like Ginny had had Tom Riddle's diary. The tiara … the _diadem_. Something of Ravenclaw's.

Over her head, green eyes met grey.

Draco ripped the diadem from Hermione's head as Harry threw him the Gryffindor's sword. He caught it in midair and slammed the blade down on the delicate silver.

The diadem broke like any other delicate piece of jewelry would after being hit by a sword. The intricate silver workings bent with hardly any protest as the blade sliced through it, the precious stones flying free. There was no flames, no burst of magic, no sign that a piece of Voldemort's soul had been destroyed, nothing.

The diadem wasn't a Horcrux either.

Hermione couldn't breathe. She'd been wrong twice. She was hardly ever wrong, and now that it mattered, she'd been wrong twice. She suddenly felt a wild, irrational urge to throw herself onto the sword Draco now held. It was all her fault.

Weak with despair, she sank onto the grass. Still keeping his wand trained on Voldemort, Harry knelt down beside her. Draco remained standing behind them, still grasping the sword of Gryffindor and trying to get some sign from Harry of what the blood hell he should do next.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" Voldemort demanded. "_DID YOU?!_" His voice echoed loudly. No one moved.

"You think I wanted Hermione Granger because some prophecy said she was great?" Voldemort demanded. "No, that prophecy happened because I had _made_ her great! Power and intelligence not seen in a thousand years! The brightest witch since Rowena Ravenclaw! How could you not see it, Harry? She'd been by your side for years! I knew the moment I laid eyes on her!"

Hermione was still trying to catch her breath, still trying to understand. What was Voldemort talking about? It didn't make any sense.

And then she saw it.

On the ground in front of her, in one of the shards that had been the Mirror of Erised, she saw her heart's deepest, most desperate desire: She saw herself and she saw Harry, and she saw what they would have to do to defeat Voldemort forever.

She slowly raised her head and met Harry's eyes. He'd seen it, too. It all made sense now.

Three years ago, at King's Cross, Voldemort had placed a scrap of his soul in her, purposely turning her into a Horcrux. But her magic had tried to reject it, and the resulting explosion had brought down the roof of the train station, killing all those people, those children, her parents.

Voldemort hadn't been sure if it had worked, and he'd been looking for her ever since to find out. He'd been wary of another explosion of magic if he came in contact with the severed piece of soul, accounting for his hesitancy around her the first few months after Draco had brought her to him. But curiosity had won out and when he had performed Legilimancy on her, he'd found that small piece of himself inside her.

He had been there ever since King's Cross, ever since she got that scar on her shoulder that looked remarkably like Harry's. He had been small voice that had made her doubt herself, that had convinced her she was of no help to the Order, that she was better off hiding in Grimmauld Place. He had been the anger and hatred for the Order that had brewed within her all that time. He had been the push that had made her kill Ernie Macmillan. He had been the nudge that had tempted her to hang Draco over the ledge.

Harry grasped her shoulder hard. "You understand, don't you, Hermione?" he said in a low, calm voice so that only she could hear. "Something of Ravenclaw's. Her intelligence. You."

"And you, too?"

There was pain in his eyes, but also peace and acceptance. Her heart broke when she realized he had known all this time that he would have to die to defeat Voldemort. It was easy for her; she hardly had to think about it. But he'd had to live with this knowledge, knowing every step they took toward defeating Voldemort was one step toward his death.

But that was their trump card, too. Voldemort didn't know he'd already made a human Horcrux. Something of Gryffindor's. His bravery. Harry.

"This is your choice, Harry Potter," Voldemort pronounced, spreading his arms wide, exposing his body to attack. "If you want to kill me, you'll have to kill her as well."

"No!"

Harry turned. It was Ron who had spoken, but for some reason, his eyes were drawn to Draco. The cold, emotionless mask had slipped, and suddenly something else made sense.

"No, there has to be another way!" Ron insisted, voice breaking.

"Of course there is!" Voldemort said. "You all yield to me today, admit defeat!"

"Never!" Ron yelled. "You'll kill us anyway!"

"Exactly, Ron," Hermione said, getting shakily to her feet. "So what's one life compared to the lives of so many others?"

"Or two," Harry muttered, steadying her.

"They will not say I was not merciful," Voldemort said. "Give yourself up to me, Harry Potter, and I promise I will not hurt any of them."

"Harry, _no!_" Ginny yelled, and it took three of her brothers to keep her from running toward him.

Her words were like a dagger through Harry's heart, but he forced himself to keep looking at Voldemort because if he looked at her, his resolve would fail.

"All right, Tom," he said steadily, spreading his arms wide like Voldemort had. "Here I am. What happens now?"

"This is the part where you tell everyone how sorry you are, Harry," Voldemort said. "Sorry for tearing our world apart only to have it end like this, like it was always going to end. Sorry for leading so many people to their deaths. Sorry for ruining so many people's lives. Sorry for giving people false hope."

For a moment, it seemed Harry would not do it. Then, he turned to face Hermione. "I'm sorry, Mione," he said, and she choked back a sob because she could _feel_ how he meant it. "I'm sorry," he repeated, louder so that the Order could hear. His eyes locked with Ginny's as he gave her one last, lingering look full of longing and regret. _I'm sorry_, he mouthed to her.

"What was that, Harry?" Voldemort taunted. "I don't think everyone heard you."

"I'm sorry!" Harry yelled. The Order flinched, and the Death Eaters began to jeer.

Hermione's eyes found Draco's, and he recognized the apology in her eyes as well.

His eyes widened as he realized what they were going to do. "No, Granger—!"

Draco found he could not move or speak. He desperately tried to fight off the spell Hermione had sent his way. Surely someone in the Order had figured it out, too. He saw Lupin's eyes shift between Harry and Hermione, and he could almost see the old professor beginning to make the connection.

Voldemort made a cutting motion with his hand, and the Death Eaters stopped their jeering.

Then, in the silence that followed, Harry inexplicably let out a snort of laughter.

"Is something funny?" Voldemort demanded. "Are you going back on your word?"

"Oh, no, Tom. I _am_ sorry," Harry assured him. "Sorry I'm not sorry."

Hermione almost rolled her eyes. Almost.

Lupin darted forward. "Harry, no—!"

"_Immobulus!_" Hermione cried. The Freezing Charm was a powerful one, and it hit everyone in the Order. They just had time to register shock on their faces before they found they could not move. Voldemort looked beyond elated. She was truly his.

"My dear—"

"_Accio sword!_" Harry yelled, running toward Voldemort.

The sword of Gryffindor zoomed from Draco's frozen hand into Harry's outstretched one, and with a yell, he thrust it straight through Voldemort's chest. Hermione gasped as pain shot through her. It felt as if Harry had thrust the sword straight through her own chest.

Harry fell as his hands slipped from the handle of the sword, and Hermione knew he was feeling the same pain. He scrambled backward as Voldemort advanced, the sword sticking grotesquely out of his torso but not seeming to affect him in the least. Voldemort seemed nearly giddy with the proof of his power.

"_Avada_—_!_"

"_Harry, now!_" Hermione screamed.

"NOOO!"

With a burst of magic uncontrolled magic, Draco broke free of Hermione's spell. He lunged at her, at both of them, but he was too little too late. They pointed their wands and simultaneously cast their spells.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

Green light encompassed both of them so that for a split-second they were perfect silhouettes, the boy with the messy hair and the girl with the bushy hair, two figures pointing their wands at each other.

The light grew impossibly bright, blinding all who watched in frozen disbelief. The sphere of light then exploded outward, knocking over those not held in place by Hermione's Freezing Charm as the magic erupted, leaving destruction in its wake.

The wind sounded impossibly loud in the silence that followed, a desolate, howling sound. Only the Order stood, still frozen with Hermione's spell, helplessly staring at the three unmoving forms laying on the ground.

Draco staggered forward, but it was a bedraggled Bellatrix Lestrange who reached them first. She fell to her knees beside the fallen form of Voldemort and let loose an unearthly, keening wail. All that was left of Lord Voldemort was a warped and burned corpse with the sword of Gryffindor still sticking straight through it.

"He's dead!" Rodolphus Lestrange cried, tearing his wife away from Voldemort's body. "The Dark Lord is dead! Fly! Fly!"

The Death Eaters began to Disapparate, but the Order paid them no mind.

"Harry! _Harry!_" Ginny yelled, struggling to free herself from Hermione's spell. "No, you are _not_ dead, Harry Potter!" she screamed. "Do you hear me? YOU ARE NOT DEAD!"

Draco looked around at the Order, who still stood in various states of immobility. Then he let out a derisive laugh, half directed at himself. God, their stupidity was starting to rub off on him.

He strode forward, wrenched Hermione's limp form from the ground, and shook her hard enough that she would have felt it in the afterlife.

"Malfoy, let her go!" Ron yelled, and Draco was disgusted to hear him nearly sobbing. The redhead was red in the face as he struggled against the spell, arms reaching out as if he could wrap his hands around Draco's neck from 20 feet away. "You don't get to touch her, you fucking bastard! Get your hands off her!"

If this was how Weasley was reacting to some shaking, he couldn't wait to find out what would happen if he did something more, so he did. Draco pulled back his hand and slapped Hermione. Hard.

Ron let out a roar as he launched himself at Draco, knocking him clear of Hermione. They landed a few yards away. Ron pinned Draco to the ground with one hand while he pulled the other back and began punching him repeatedly in the face, yelling obscenities. Draco didn't even try to defend himself. He was too busy straining to hear for some sign—

Hermione took a gasping, shuddering breath.

Forgetting Draco entirely, Ron scrambled to her side. Draco just lay there, watching the rise and fall of her chest from afar, counting each breath she took, making sure another one followed.

Finally free as well, Ginny threw herself on top of Harry. She beat her fists on his chest, shook him with a strength that belied her petite frame, then drew back and slapped him as Draco had Hermione. When still nothing happened, she pulled back and was about to slap him again when his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"Heard you the first time, Gin," he rasped hoarsely. "Got it. Not dead."


	25. Post-Mortem

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 25: Post-Mortem**

_Post-mortem: Analysis of a game after it has concluded._

Thursday, January 1, 2004

* * *

Hermione slowly opened her eyes and stared up at a slightly revolving pattern of gold gilt curlicues. She squeezed them shut for a moment before opening them again. This time the ornate rococo ceiling didn't move. There was only one place in the Manor where the pastel green of her rooms and the dark green of his came together in a tasteful, seamless combination.

The Malfoy Bedroom.

Her head swam slightly as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She slipped out from under the thick comforter, her feet sinking into the lush carpet. Standing felt strange, as if she hadn't done it in a long time. She had to steady herself on one of the posts of the bed as her legs lazily protested taking her weight.

After a moment, she felt steadier and made her way rather ungracefully to the bay windows. She was just about to open the one that led out into the verandah when—

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes."

She turned in time to see Draco walk in, flawless in a dark grey wool suit, crisp white shirt, and Slytherin green silk tie. He was balancing a tray of food on one hand, a copy of the Daily Prophet tucked under his arm.

"Good morning," he greeted, as if bringing her breakfast in bed was an everyday occurrence. He set the tray and paper down on the bedside table, picked up the dressing gown that was draped over the foot of the bed, and walked over to where she was standing. Reaching around her, he opened the doors. Instead of being blasted by the cold, winter air like she expected, a warm, spring breeze flitted in.

"Weather Charm," Draco explained, "but, still, put this on."

She stared down at the robe. It matched the light green silk pajamas she was wearing.

"You wear it," he said as if talking to an particularly slow person, "like so." She stared at him as he took the robe and forced her arms through the sleeves. His face was perfectly expressionless, but he tied the belt for her rather more roughly than necessary. Double knot.

He went to the balustrade, looking out over the manor grounds. He cut an impressive figure standing there, the master of Malfoy Manor. Yet it all felt quite strange, it didn't feel quite … real.

A startling thought occurred to her. "Are we … alive?"

This forced a laugh from Draco. "Yes, Granger, we're alive," he assured her. "Just barely in your case," he added quietly, so she almost didn't hear. Almost.

"What happened?"

He didn't turn around. "Your stupid idea worked," he said, speaking to the horizon. "The _Avada _destroyed the parts of Voldemort's soul that were inside you and Potter. The sword was already in Voldemort's chest, so he burned as soon as they were destroyed." Something seemed to snap in him. "What a fucking stupid gamble, Granger! You had no way of knowing that the Sacrificial Protection Spell would work that way, on both of you!"

He took a shuddering breath. She wished he'd turn around so she could see his face.

"Your stupid idea worked," he repeated, calm once more. "And it nearly killed you."

"But it didn't."

He let out a slow breath. "No, it didn't."

"But it worked?" she croaked.

"The other Death Eaters are still at large, but they'll be rounded up soon. There's an interim Ministry set up until elections can take place. People are starting to return."

It was too good to be true. She was too scared to believe it. Any second now, she was going to wake up and find out it was all just a wonderful dream.

He finally turned around. He'd set aside his mask for the moment, and his gray eyes were a swirl of emotion.

"You did it, Granger," he said, eyes shining with pride and admiration and ... something else. "Well, Potterhelped, I suppose, but _you_."

"Do you mean… Is it really over, Malfoy?" she asked in a strangled voice.

His eyes softened. "Yes, Granger," he said steadily. "It is."

Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle the single sob that escaped her. She tried in vain to marshal some semblance of control, but it was too late. They had survived. They had _won_. It was all over. It all had been worth it. She was shaking, sobbing, shattering into a million pieces. With two strides, he closed the distance between them and pulled her tightly to his chest, holding her close, holding her together.

"Granger, are you all—?"

The world spun, and suddenly she was inside again, lying on the bed while Draco settled himself into the comfortable armchair next to it. "Do you want something to eat?" he asked. She shook her head. "You'll have something to eat," he decided, pouring her a glass of juice. If she hadn't been too busy crying, she would have told him exactly where to put the piece of toast he was shoving at her.

"I'm not hungry," she said, wiping futilely at the endless stream of tears coming from her eyes.

Draco sighed as he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an immaculate silk handkerchief, and handed it to her. "Of course you are. You've been out of it for a week. Oh, Happy New Year, by the way."

"What?!" That was enough to jolt her out of her tears. "I've been unconscious for a week?!"

"Yes, dying can really wear you out. Eggs?"

"_Malfoy!_ What about everyone else? Where are they? What happened to them? Are they all right?"

"Calm down before you make yourself sick. Honestly, you almost die once and suddenly it's high-strung Prefect Granger resurrected."

He took the time to calmly finish his coffee, and Hermione was ready to strangle him by the time he got to the last drop.

"The Order is intact … mostly," he said, setting aside his cup, settling back in the armchair, and brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "Of the 'only remaining members of the glorious Order of the Phoenix', only Moody pegged out. Well, pegged-leg out, actually…"

"Malfoy!" Hermione objected sharply.

Her relief quickly giving way to anger, she glowered at him as she viciously stabbed at the eggs and tore at the toast he had offered her. The effect of her glare was entirely lost on Draco, since she rather resembled a squirrel storing away nuts for winter with her cheeks bulging like that.

"Slow down before you make yourself sick," he said, pulling the sausages out of her reach and doling out a couple links onto her plate. "Prof. Werewolf and Crazy Hair made it out with just a few scratches. Shacklebolt was hit with a curse in his shoulder, but it's mending, thanks to Red, who turns out is a bit of a Healer."

She gulped down her orange juice. "And Harry and Ron?"

"Weasel got a good knock on the head, but even if there's permanent damage, I'm sure we won't notice any difference."

She had no idea where this carefree, flippant Draco had come from, but she certainly didn't prefer it to the dark, brooding version. Definitely not. Maybe.

"And Harry?" she insisted. "Harry's all right, of course?"

"Of course," he agreed. "Potty just had to, er, _flush_ a bit of Voldemort out of his system, just like you."

"And he's gone for sure? There aren't any more Horcruxes? There's no chance he can come back?"

"See for yourself."

He reached over and pushed her sleeve up to expose her Mark. She suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature … because she suddenly felt inordinately warm due to his proximity. A smile teased his lips, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

"It's fading," she realized.

"It's already lighter than the lightest it ever was for my father in the years after Voldemort first fell. In a few weeks, it will be gone complete—Merlin, you're not crying again, are you?"

Hermione had turned away and was using her hair as a curtain in a desperate attempt to hide her tears from him. "No," she replied, in a very shaky, very unconvincing voice.

Draco gave a long-suffering sigh. "Haven't you run out yet?"

"I think I've earned it," she snapped, though an adorable hiccup quite ruined the effect. She swiped at her cheeks with his handkerchief, but the tears did not subside.

"You do understand that we _won_, correct?"

She buried her face in her hands. "Yes, yes! It's just … I can't even begin to wrap my head around the fact that it's _over_. Pinch me or something, Malfoy! I can't believe it—"

He did something better. He kissed her.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was as jarring and bruising as a pinch, a sharp jolt of reality and the stuff dreams were made of. It was everything that Draco was: insisting and relentless, selfish and egotistic, always demanding more of her and somehow giving her even more than that. She found in that moment she didn't care if this was all real or not, as long as he didn't stop ... as long as he never stopped.

When they finally pulled away for the sake of air, she found that he somehow had moved from the armchair and was now sitting beside her on the bed. He met her gaze steadily.

"Draco…" she breathed.

"It doesn't sound right when you call me that." He smirked, but his voice was soft.

"Malfoy, then…" she amended.

"Yes, Granger?" he prompted.

She couldn't remember what she wanted to say. Her mind felt sluggish. Well, she had been asleep for a week, after all. It had nothing whatsoever with the way he was looking at her.

"I…"

He was much too close, crowding logic and sense out of her mind. Not that she minded. Ha.

"You…?"

With her hair frizzier than usual from laying down for so long, her cheeks pale and tear-stained, and her eyes red and puffy, Hermione looked a far cry from the glamorous Madam Malfoy who had once been on the cover of _Witch Weekly_. He found he quite preferred this version.

"I'm glad you didn't die, Malfoy," she whispered, linking their hands.

He smiled. It would never be direct with them, and he would have it no other way.

"I'm glad you didn't die either, Granger."

They were much too close, but neither tried move away. His hand tightened around hers almost painfully. Almost. The distance between them was slowly closing once again—

_Crack!_


	26. Hanging

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 26: Hanging**

_Hanging: Unprotected and exposed to capture._

Thursday, January 1, 2004

* * *

_Crack!_

"Oh, Master! Madam!"

"What is it, Ritzy?" Draco drawled.

Hermione fell forward, Draco suddenly gone from her side. He was standing, pouring himself some coffee, the epitome of cool, calm, and oh-so-collected.

"They've broken through, Master Malfoy! Ritzy's magic couldn't stop them. Ritzy is so sorry!"

"Who?" Hermione demanded, a spike of fear running through her.

"Don't worry, it's just the Order," he said boredly. "Thanks, Ritzy. I'll deal with it."

He took one last sip of his coffee before he turned and walked toward the door. Hermione scrambled out of bed to follow him.

"Why is the Order storming the Manor?" she asked, a touch of sharpness in her tone.

"Because they think I kidnapped you," he said casually.

"What?!"

"After you stabilized a few days ago, the Healers at St. Mungo's couldn't do anything else, so I took you home. Here," he amended.

"And Harry and Ron just let you?" she said in disbelief.

"No," he admitted, "but husband trumps best friend and ex-boyfriend any day. They've been trying to get into the Manor since then, but Ritzy and I put up some wards, which apparently they've just broken through." He gave her a cursory glance. "At least change into something more dignified to greet our guests, Madam Malfoy."

He flicked his wand at her and transformed her pajamas into a dress that exactly matched the color of his Slytherin green tie. Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't mind the color—really, green had quite grown on her—but she quickly made some alterations, raising the neckline and adding a light grey sweater that complemented his suit.

"Such a spoilsport, Granger," Draco lamented.

"The Order is probably out for you blood. Dressing me like that is not going to help," she warned. "They must have been frantic this whole time!"

"Whereas I haven't been worried at all," he said sarcastically.

"Don't pretend you've been holding vigil by my bedside, Malfoy," she said tartly.

"Well, you were being a bit boring, Granger, sleeping all day. And you snore."

"I do _not_—"

"_Hermione!_"

The Order was fanned out in defensive formation in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Lupin and Tonks were standing guard by the doors to the east and west parlors, Ginny was stationed by the door, and Harry and Ron were at the foot of the staircase.

Harry and Ron took one look at her red eyes and tear-stained face—Glamour Charm, that's what she'd forgotten—before they charged forward, brandishing their wands. The rest remained en garde but did not move, allowing Harry and Ron to draw first blood.

Hermione quickly put herself on the step in front of Draco, and though it was more than slightly comical to see her trying to shield someone who now stood a foot-and-a-half taller than her, the look on her face and her wand pointing at her friends were nothing to laugh at.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"What do you think _you're_ doing?" Ron said as he and Harry stopped short.

"We're rescuing you, of course," Harry said. He blinked. "Er ... don't you need rescuing?"

"Does it look like I need rescuing?"

"Yeah!" Ron said hotly, red sparks shooting from the tip of his wand as he pointed it at Draco. "He hasn't let us see you!"

"To be honest, there wasn't much to see," Draco said. "She slept and ... let me see ... slept."

"She's not asleep now," Ron pointed out. He stabbed his wand forward. "You've been keeping her here against her will!"

"No, he hasn't!" Hermione said indignantly. "I live here!"

"Weasley, you still don't get, do you? I'm not keeping her here. She's free to leave whenever she wants. Right at this moment, even. I won't stop her."

"You won't?" Hermione asked, half surprised, half challenging.

"Not unless you want me to," he said quietly, his gaze intense.

Tonks and Lupin both lowered their wands at that and looked at each other from across the hall, identical expressions of realization mirrored on their faces.

"Ron, honestly, I just woke up an hour ago," Hermione said in a calmer tone, finally looking away from Draco.

"You just woke up?" Ginny asked. She, too, had lowered her wand. "You should be taking it easy, Hermione."

"I feel fine," Hermione assured her. A smile slowly spread across her face. "For the first time in years, I feel perfectly fine."

Struggling to control his emotions, Harry pocketed his wand and bounded up the stairs, enveloping her in a hug. "We did it, Mione," he said, his voice slightly muffled into her shoulder. "We won. We did it."

"I know. I still can't believe it," she said, hugging him back as fiercely as he was her. "Oh, Harry..."

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed as he leaned back on the banister. Bloody emotional Gryffindors.

"You were brilliant, Hermione." Harry was blinking furiously as he pulled away. He shook her slightly. "I'd never have forgive myself if you _died_—"

"I didn't," Hermione said firmly.

"You almost did," Draco pointed out.

This earned him strange looks from Harry and Ginny this time.

"Don't pretend you care!" Ron roared. "The only person you ever cared about surviving this war is yourself! Voldemort said he'd kill you if you didn't give him Hermione, so you gave her to him! You've only be protecting her because the Unbreakable Vow will kill you if you don't!" Ron stomped forward. "Come on, Hermione! Let's go home. If we never see this tosser again, it'll still be too soon."

He reached out to grab Hermione's hand, but Draco stepped between them, his own wand suddenly in hand.

"I'm warning you, Weasley. Take one more step toward her, and you won't be able to walk again."

Ron shot the others a look of triumph. "See? He won't let her leave!"

"Perhaps I don't want to go with you," Hermione suggested.

"You still don't get it, Weasley," Draco said. "She's safe here. Shacklebolt said—"

Tonks and Lupin shared looks of alarm.

"What did Kingsley say?" Lupin demanded urgently.

"That we needed to... Wait, how exactly did you get in here?" Draco asked, all trace of boredom suddenly gone. "Did you just break through, or did you completely break down—?"

The front door burst open, nearly hitting Ginny. Kingsley ran in, a look of panic on his usual calm face.

"The Aurors are on their way—I couldn't stop them—"

"But he's on our side!" Hermione protested. "Please, everyone—"

"No, Hermione, they've come for you!"

All of a sudden, the hall was filled with swishing robes as at least 10 Aurors Apparated into the hall. The Order compressed, forming a semicircle around Draco and Hermione at the foot of the stairs. Kingsley remained standing in between the Order and the Aurors.

"They will come with you willingly to the Ministry, where I'm sure we can sort out this misunderstanding," Kingsley said, his deep, steady voice appealing to reason. "There's no need to..."

One Auror stepped forward, holding up a roll of parchment, which he unfurled and began to read:

"_By order of the Ministry of Magic, Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy is hereby charged with being a Marked Death Eater and loyal follower of You-Know-Who_—"

The Order let out cries of outrage as they tightened their ranks around Hermione.

"She is no more a loyal follower of Voldemort's than we are!" Tonks said, her hair flashing bright red in anger.

"Look, Tonks, Shacklebolt," the Auror said, dropping his formal stance. "You know the difficult position I'm in. We're all Aurors here—"

"You are no Auror!" Kingsley thundered. "You're merely a tool being used by the Ministry to do its dirty work!"

The Auror went stone-faced as he turned from Kingsley and addressed Hermione directly. "Mrs. Malfoy, you will now be escorted back to the Ministry, where you will be formally charged and then sent to Azkaban to await trial—"

"No one is taking her anywhere."

Draco said it quite calmly, but with an air of absolute and dangerous certainty. The Auror pulled out another roll of parchment.

"Draco Xanthus Malfoy, you are being charged with the same. If you both do not come quietly, we will be forced to bring you in by any means necessary."

As one, the Aurors assumed attack positions.

"_Now!_" Harry yelled, surging forward.

The Order opened fire, consolidating into a solid line at the foot of the stairs. Harry pushed Draco and Hermione up the stairs.

"Go!" he yelled. "Get out of here! Go!"

Hermione stumbled, but Draco grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up before she could fall. She felt Draco try to Apparate, but nothing happened. There was a yell from behind as the Order's line broke momentarily. Hermione ducked under his arm and Draco reached over her to stop the Auror who had broken through. His body flew across the room and hit the front door, and he slid to the floor unconscious.

But there still were nine other Aurors to take his place. Hermione felt torn. She couldn't let the Order fight for her while she ran, but Draco was already pulling her up the stairs.

"My office—the tunnel—" he hissed in her ear, pushing her ahead of him. "Go!"

He was going to give himself up to save her, she realized with horror, but she didn't even have time to object. Ten more more Aurors appeared on the stairs above them, trapping them on the landing. The Order's line finally broke, and Aurors charged up up the stairs as more thundered down from the floor above. One by one but in quick succession, the Order members were neutralized, suspended in midair and immobilized by tendrils of pale purple magic.

Draco and Hermione's eyes met for the briefest of moments, but everything was said in that one glance. This was it, and they weren't going down without a fight.

Bound by magic, the Order watched in helpless admiration as Draco and Hermione fought back their attackers as if they still had a chance in the world. They moved around each other with almost beautiful fluidity, completely in tune with one another's movements. She blocked a spell for him as he pulled her out of the way of another. She shot from up high and he shot from down low, and two more Aurors fell.

For the first time, the Order fully appreciated that Hermione and Draco were a formidable pair. Had they both been in top form, they might have gotten away, but already, Hermione was slowing. Draco tried to compensate, but it wasn't going to be enough.

Hermione's harsh breathing grated on her ears, a testament to her weakness. She had to ... keep fighting ... _keep fighting_...

Her mind was screaming at her body to keep moving, but she simply had no strength left. She fell, and Draco's heart stopped.

"Hermione!"

Still furiously blocking spells, Draco could see she was trying and failing to regain her footing. Stooping, he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her upright, and that moment cost them their freedom. The Aurors seized the opportunity and converged on them, disarming them and ripping her away.

"Draco!"

His name was torn from her lips as she was flung over an Auror's shoulder. She strained to reach him as she was borne away, and he desperately tried to close the distance between them so that it took five Aurors to hold him back. His almost superhuman strength threatened to send them all tumbling down the stairs, so one Auror threw Draco back with a spell that brought the other Aurors with him. They all crashed into the wall, but Draco took the brunt of the impact. He slid down to the ground, his head cracking hard on the floor, where a pool of red slowly began to spread on the white marble.

"_Nooooo!_"

Hermione's cry echoed in the hall, seeming to shake its foundations. It took a moment for everyone to realize she _was_ shaking the foundations of the centuries-old house with a burst of desperate, uncontrolled magic. She twisted violently in her captor's arms and almost got free. Almost. But then his hand came down on the back of her head, and she knew no more.


	27. Arbiter

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 27: Arbiter**

_Arbiter: A tournament official who arbitrates disputes and performs other duties such as keeping the score when players are under time pressure._

Tuesday, January 13, 2003

* * *

It was billed as the trial of the century. For a world that had lived so long in chaos and anarchy, the thirst for so-called justice was strong. And the first attempt to slake this lust for revenge was the trial of Master and Madam Malfoy.

Courtroom Ten in the Ministry of Magic was filled to capacity as witches and wizards squeezed into every seat of the tiered rows in the octagonal chamber. One side of the octagon, the one directly facing the two chairs in the center of the floor, was filled by people dressed in plum-colored robes, all bearing a silver W on their chests. They were the remaining members of the Wizengamot, those who had survived the war by fleeing and going into hiding instead of fighting to uphold the law.

Hermione and Draco were escorted into the courtroom, flanked on all sides by Aurors. They were dressed in the rough sackcloth reserved for Azkaban prisoners, though the way they held themselves, they could have been wearing Madam Malkin's finest silks. Hermione was taking Draco's lead and moving as he had taught her to, with confidence, grace, and perfect posture. She felt it strangely calming, clinging to the strict pureblood protocol as hundreds of eyes descended on them the minute they set foot in the courtroom.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the group sitting directly to the left of the Wizengamot. The Order gave her brave smiles and resolute nods as she was led to one of the chairs in the center of the courtroom floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco acknowledge them with a slight incline of his head, and she almost rolled her eyes in exasperation. Almost.

As soon as they were seated, the chains on the chairs came to life and wound themselves tightly around their arms and ankles, causing an outcry, led most loudly by the Order.

"Is that really necessary?" Tonks demanded. She and Kingsley had been excused from the Auror guard due to their close ties to the accused.

"They're lucky they're not in the cage!" someone yelled from the gallery.

Hermione made a calming motion with her hands as best she could while restrained, but the Order seemed to get the message. They settled down but remained tense, on the edge of their seats.

The knuckles on Harry's hands were bone white from how tightly they were clenched. Seated on either side of him, Ron looked positively ill, Ginny agitated. Kingsley was stoic, though his dark eyes glittered angrily when they fell on his fellow Aurors. Lupin was keeping Tonks from another outburst, though a moment later, she seemed to be doing the same for him.

Hermione glanced up to see what could have upset the usually calm werewolf. High above her and Draco, she could just make out the forms of dementors, kept at bay by a ring of the Wizengamot's Patronuses.

The Chief Warlock rapped his gavel smartly to call the court into session. "Criminal hearing of the 13th of January into offenses committed by Draco Xanthus Malfoy and Hermione Jean Granger-Malfoy.

"The charges against the accused are as follows: That they both are Marked followers of the evil sorcerer You-Know-Who; that they both led the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts Castle, resulting in the capture of the property and an attempt to convert the school into one of the Dark Arts; that Mr. Malfoy led other Death Eaters attacks, most notably in Northumberland, Yorkshire, Essex, Somerset, and Cornwall, resulting in the torture and murder of dozens of witches and wizards; that Mrs. Malfoy committed the murder of the unarmed wizard Ernest Macmillan on the 15th of August…"

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face. She kept her eyes fixed on the Chief Warlock, watching his mouth move but not hearing what he was saying as he continued listing the charges against her and Draco.

"Witnesses for the defense: Harry James Potter, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Ginevra Molly Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin, Remus John Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt…"

But for every witness who testified in their favor, the Wizengamot had 10 more witnesses lined up to condemn them. Most were former underlings who were trying to make up for supporting Voldemort by helping convict his two most loyal followers. They were vaguely familiar to Hermione, nameless faces who had populated their parties and bowed to them when they passed. Some, like Blaise and Pansy Zabini, were of the Death Eater caste and were bargaining desperately for reduced sentences for their own crimes.

And the worst part of it was that none of them even had to lie about the things she and Draco had done.

They had decided that Draco would not testify. His lineage, his prominence as Voldemort's right hand man for years, his very personality all worked against him. And hoping for a Malfoy to appeal to the mercy of the court would have been hoping for too much. It was up to Hermione to paint a sympathetic picture of them and explain why they had to do what they had done.

Hermione gave her testimony clearly and concisely, explaining the role she and Draco had played in Voldemort's defeat and how their deception had to be complete in order to fool him. The Wizengamot listened in stone-faced silence, and she saw that it was no use. Her words were falling on deaf ears. They had already decided her and Draco's fate. They were to be scapegoated to show government was working again in the wizarding world.

The Wizengamot only asked her three questions during their cross examination, and they were all designed to bring the rest of public against her.

"Did you or did you not kill the wizard Ernie Macmillan, your classmate and a fellow prefect at Hogwarts?"

Hermione couldn't look at the Order. She felt a tear escape and trail down her cheek.

"I did."

There were gasps of horror from the crowd. The Chief Warlock rapped his gavel once to restore order.

"Were you or were you not going to assume the role of Headmistress of Hogwarts as a school for the Dark Arts?"

There was a tightness in her chest as she felt the weight of her guilt pressing down on her.

"I was," she forced out.

The gasps of horror were punctuate by shouts of outrage this time. The Chief Warlock had to rap his gavel several times before silence fell again.

"And do you or do you not bear the Dark Mark?"

The rest of the courtroom had gone utterly still and silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco's head bow. She had never seen him look so defeated, and she hated it.

She tossed her head. "Of course I do."

Draco's head had jerked up at her flippant tone, and she smiled at him because it really didn't matter anymore. He smirked back because he was Draco Malfoy and she was his wife, and they'd be damned if they went down groveling and begging for their lives.

And when an Auror came forward and pulled up her sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark for all to see, the courtroom went utterly mad.

Minutes passed before order was restored, and during that time, Draco and Hermione looked only at each other. Their chairs were too far apart and their arms chained down, but they both moved their fingers toward each another, as if they could touch.

"Well done, Granger," he said, slightly mocking as always, but honest at the same time. He somehow managed to recline in the severely straight-backed hair.

"Well done, Malfoy," she returned. She, in contrast, sat primly and properly, straight-backed and proud. "No way but down, isn't that right?"

He smirked. "Cheers to that."

"SILENCE!" the Chief Warlock yelled, hitting his gavel so hard it was liable to break in two. "Silence, or the next person to make a sound will be removed from this courtroom!"

That hushed everyone up immediately.

"Are there any other questions the Wizengamot would like to ask?" There was a general murmur of dissent. "Mrs. Malfoy, is there anything else you would like to say?"

It took Hermione a moment to realize he was speaking to her. "No—"

"I'd like to say something."

All eyes snapped to Draco as he addressed the court for the first time. He could see the panic in the Order's faces, the half questioning, half frantic one in Hermione's.

"I would like to state for the record that..." he locked eyes with Hermione, "... that I had Hermione Granger under the Imperius Curse for the last seven months." A wave of nearly hysterical noise broke over the courtroom, but Draco merely raised his voice above the din. "While she did do those things, she had no control over her own actions, and I take full responsibility—"

"That is not true!" Hermione burst out, shooting him a furious glance. "I acted of my own free will—"

"Shut the hell up, Granger," Draco bit out.

"You first, Malfoy! What do you think you're doing?"

"Saving your ungrateful ass! I got you in this in the first place, and I promised I'd get you out!"

"Silence!" the Chief Warlock cried again. But the murmuring continued. Seeing that they were in danger of losing the public's support now that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were acting the part of star-crossed—if somewhat argumentative—lovers, the Wizengamot quickly moved to vote.

"Those in favor of clearing the accused?"

No one moved, though a few of the Wizengamot shifted uncomfortably. One elderly witch in the back row was openly weeping.

"Those in favor of conviction?"

As one, the Wizengamot all raised their hands.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then—

"You've got to be kidding me!" Harry was on his feet, glaring at the Wizengamot. "This isn't justice, this is a joke! You don't have any other Death Eaters in custody, so you're taking it all out on them, the two people who helped _defeat_—!"

The Chief Warlock slammed his gavel down once. "All members of the Order of the Phoenix will be banned from the Ministry until the convicts' sentences are carried out, on the grounds that they may interfere with the administration of justice!"

Half of the Aurors encircled the Order, holding them at wandpoint. They had surrendered their wands at the doors, so they were helpless. The rest of the courtroom began whispering darkly. Knowing his and the rest of the Wizengamot's position was a precarious one, the Chief Warlock quickly passed the sentence.

"At midnight three days hence, Draco and Hermione Malfoy will be administered the Dementor's Kiss."

There were gasps of shock, even from those who had jeered at Draco and Hermione. The Chief Warlock was already on his feet and halfway out of his bench. He reached back and rapped the gavel a final time.

"Court dismis—"

A gust of wind suddenly tore through the courtroom. A black mass whipped around the room, knocking the Aurors guarding Draco and Hermione off their feet. Another circled Draco, breaking the chains that bound him.

Draco sprung out of the chair and lunged for Hermione, but the two shadows descended upon him, wrapping him up in their darkness. She felt his fingers grasp hers frantically for a moment before he disappeared.

The courtroom descended into chaos. The Wizengamot and the rest of the spectators panicked, believing Voldemort had returned to save his most faithful follower. The Aurors converged on Hermione, forming a human shield around her in case someone else tried to spirit her away. The Order surged toward her, but they didn't stand a chance without their wands.

And through it all, Hermione felt utterly numb. She had a vague sense of the world crashing down around her as she was pulled and pushed to and fro. She had expected life imprisonment in Azkaban, but never the Kiss. That was a sentence worse than death. There would be no hope of reprieve or pardon.

"Hermione!" Ron cried, shoving aside an Auror. "Don't worry, we'll get you out!"

She made no sign that she had heard him as she was dragged down to the holding cells, a limp rag doll between two Aurors.

Draco's voice echoed in her head from the night she'd killed Ernie Macmillan, the night she got the Dark Mark. _The end matters, not the means._

_Even if it costs you your soul?_ she had demanded.

Well, that was the exact price she was going to pay.

* * *

"They can't do that to her! They just can't!" Ginny was angrily pacing the length of Grimmauld's kitchen.

"That wasn't a trial, that was a travesty," Lupin agreed, pale with anger. "We didn't fight so that things like that could still happen."

"If I win the election, I could put a stop to it," Kingsley mused. "But we won't know the results until Friday night, the same night her sentence will be carried out. It would be close call."

"And not a sure one," Tonks added. "If you lose—"

"We've got to do something," Ron said desperately. "We can't let them do that to her!"

Harry had been sitting quite calmly at the table, staring at the worn and scratched surface as if he could see something there the others couldn't. But at Ron's words, his head jerked up.

"Of course we can't," he agreed. "And we're not going to let them."

"What are you thinking?" Ginny asked, turning to look at him with bright eyes.

A small smile played on Harry's lips. "We've broken into the Ministry of Magic before. Why not do it again?"

"Last time, the way had been cleared for us," Lupin reminded him. "Voldemort wanted you to get to the Department of Mysteries."

"Do you think we're just going to let that happen to Hermione?" Harry demanded. "How did you put it, Professor? 'An empty shell', her soul gone forever? Hermione, of all people!"

Harry hadn't called him 'Professor' in nearly 10 years. "No, of course not," Lupin said quietly. "What's the plan?"

"We wait until the election results come in Friday night," Harry said, standing and beginning to pace. "If Kingsley wins, he can stop the Kiss from happening, and the rest of us will go back him up if they resist. If he doesn't win, then we go to the Ministry anyway and break her out of there. If Malfoy is recaptured before then, we save him as well."

"Malfoy?" Ron objected. "He left her there! He deserves—"

"No one deserves that," Harry said. "Someone took him from there, and I have an idea who. But he tried to sacrifice himself for Hermione during the trial, and we couldn't have won the war without him. If we have the chance, we save him." He looked at them grimly. "I'm pretty sure we'll succeed. The Aurors didn't look all too thrilled. If it comes down to it, I don't think they'll fight us."

"But we've been banned from the Ministry," Ginny said. "We won't be able to Floo in—"

A tapping at the window caught their attention. A plain brown owl hopped in when Harry opened the glass and took off again as soon as he'd detached the letter tied to its leg.

"It's from Hermione," he said, recognizing her neat script as he unrolled it for all to see.

_Dear friends,_

_Whatever it is you're planning, stop this instant. I don't need saving. I was already saved, seven months ago, when Malfoy offered me a chance to redeem myself. It was an utterly insane plan that somehow worked, and I don't regret it. I knew when I agreed to it that I would probably end up dead or worse. In this case, it will be worse, but it will be worth it. Focus your energies on the future instead. The Order has the power to shape the future of the wizarding world, and I won't have you waste your legacy trying to save me._

_Should your paths ever cross with Malfoy's again, please don't harm him. He tried to take me with him, but whoever rescued him stopped him from doing so. And please let him know that I don't blame him in the slightest. I'm glad he was able to get away and eternally grateful for the trust he put in me and the chance he took with me._

_Please know that I love each and every one of you, really and truly. There has never been and there never will be a group of people as wonderful, as selfless, and as glorious as the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, last defenders of the wizarding world. Even when I am no longer myself, I believe a part of me will still know this and be thankful that I got to be a part of it with all of you. Please go on and live your lives,__ the rest of which I hope will be long, prosperous, and most importantly, filled with happiness._

_Yours always,_  
_Hermione_

_P.S. It's thanks to Percy that I was able to send this to you. Despite what he's done, or didn't do, during the war, please forgive him._

Harry let the parchment roll in on itself and took a shaky breath. "That settles that, then," he said. "We'll be fugitives for the rest of our lives. We won't be able to come back to the country for a long time, at least. It won't be easy. Kingsley, you could do so much more good in the Ministry than on the run. Tonks, Remus, you could start a family—"

"Harry," Lupin interrupted gently. "This is our family. You all are, including Hermione."

"You're stuck with us," Tonks assured him.

"And I'd never work for a government that allows this," Kingsley said. "Never."

"We'll need to figure out something for George," Ron said. "We can't take him with us."

"Fred and Angelina," Ginny said immediately. "They'll take care of him."

"Where will we go, Harry?" Ron asked.

The corners of Harry's mouth twitched upward. "I remember you saying something once about a house in the country, far away from here."

Ron nodded. "Bill and Fleur's, of course."

"It'll be a start, at least." Harry nodded resolutely, surveying the room. "Right, then. This will be the last act of the remaining members of the glorious Order of the Phoenix." His fist came down on the table, squashing Hermione's letter. "And if Percy wants our forgiveness, he'll have to do much more than send us an owl. He's going to get us into the Ministry."


	28. Insufficient Material

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 28: Insufficient Material**

_Insufficient material: An endgame scenario in which all pawns have been captured, and one side has only its king remaining while the other is down to just a king or a king plus one knight or one bishop. The position is a draw because it is impossible for the dominant side to deliver checkmate regardless of play._

Tuesday, January 13, 2004-Friday, January 16, 2004

* * *

Draco fought his rescuers all the way, but there were two of them and without a wand he was easily overpowered. His body dematerialized from the courtroom as he was forced to Side-Apparate with whoever had an iron grip on his arm. If he had just gotten a firm grasp on her, they would have been forced to take her along. Not caring if he or one of his rescuers were splinched, Draco continued to struggle as he was spirited away to an unknown destination.

After what seemed like ages but was only seconds, his feet hit solid ground. He staggered back against a cold stone wall as he was released and slowly realized he was standing in Black Castle.

"Why have you brought me here?" he demanded of the two figures in front of him, both standing in the shadows so that he could not distinguish their features. "Don't you realize what you've done? You have to take me back!"

"Draco—"

"Take me back to her!"

He could feel his famed control slipping. He tried to rein it in, but it was too late. The magic was flowing out of him, uncontrolled. Items began exploding around them, some whizzing at lightning speed toward his rescuers so that they barely had time to dodge out of the way or block them with a spell. The very foundations of the castle seemed to tremble beneath their feet.

"For Merlin's sake, knock him out before he kills us all!"

"He's your son!"

"Do it, Severus!"

"_Stupefy!_"

And Draco knew no more.

* * *

Hermione lay in her cell as each second, each heartbeat, brought the Kiss closer and closer. She tried to shut off the small corner of her mind that fervently believed the Order was coming to save her, regardless of what she had written. But surely, if they were going to do it, they would have done it by now. What if they had already tried and were now imprisoned like her, awaiting the same fate? But surely someone—Lupin, Kingsley, Harry on a good day—would have talked them out of such a stupid plan. Perhaps they had seen the truth in her words and were already planning the reforms they would fight for in her honor. The Hermione Granger Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Granger's SPEW.

That brought her dangerously close to the brink of laughter, so she quickly turned her thoughts in a different direction.

Draco. She wondered where he was now, if he was all right. She prayed he would stay away. If he were to try and save her, they would only recapture him and he would suffer the same fate. But Draco's rescuers wouldn't let him do something as idiotic as that. She had an idea of who had saved Draco, but she still thanked them with all her heart, despite the other things they had done. Draco deserved to be saved. He'd been through so much more than her, had risked so much more, for so much longer.

There was a commotion down the corridor. It wasn't midnight yet, but the Aurors were coming. They were arguing amongst themselves about the ethics of the Wizengamot's moving up the Kiss, ahead of the election announcement, just in case Kingsley and the Order decided to interfere.

So it had come down to this. This was her destiny. Draco believed they made their own destiny, and in a way, she _had_ brought this about herself. A fate worse than death. She hoped he made something happier for himself.

She sat up suddenly. It was a fate worse than death, so why not embrace death first?

"Ritzy!" she whispered desperately, hoping the house-elf could break through the protective wards around her cell, hoping she would still answer the call of the mistress of Malfoy Manor, no matter how short the time left she held that title. "Ritzy, _please!_"

The house-elf appeared with a loud crack that Hermione was sure could be heard down the hall. Large tears filled the creature's overly large eyes.

"Oh, Mistress!"

There was no time to comfort her. They were coming. "Ritzy, I need you to get something for me. Now!"

* * *

The results had just come in: Kingsley Shacklebolt was the next Minister of Magic, by a landslide. He appeared in the Ministry the instant word came in, tendrils of emerald flames still clinging to his robes as he strode into the Atrium. A group of reporters immediately flocked to him.

"Minister Shacklebolt! What will be your first act as Minister of Magic?"

Kingsley didn't hesitate. "I will be granting a full pardon to Hermione Granger."

Only a few seconds behind, several of the fireplaces simultaneously shot emerald flames as the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix materialized in the Ministry's Atrium as well.

"This way!" Kingsley said, pushing through the press and charging toward the lifts.

"You're just the minister-elect!" someone objected. "You don't have that power yet!"

"Watch me," Kingsley boomed.

The reporters tried to follow them, but Ginny cast an Impediment Jinx so strong it stopped all of them in their tracks long enough for the Order to get onto the lifts, which took them straight down to Level 10.

The Wizengamot were waiting outside Courtroom Ten when the lifts arrived and the Order strode out. It took a moment for them to realize what the Wizengamot were doing in the hallway: They were waiting for the dementors to finish their work, unable to witness the sentence they had passed.

They were too late. _They were too late_.

"You're not allowed here!" the Chief Warlock cried. "Arrest them! Arrest—!"

"Out of the way, bastards!" Ron yelled, physically barreling his way through the crowd. "Hermione, hang on! We're coming!"

The rest of the Order were more practical in their approach, using magic to cut a path through the Wizengamot and Aurors. Some resisted, but the Order hadn't dueled with Death Eaters for nothing. And Harry was right, most refused to fight at all.

Once they broke free of the pack, the Order sprinted down the narrow hallway that led into the courtroom. They could just see the chair that served as both witness stand and execution chair. The chains were wound multiple times around Hermione's arms and ankles, keeping her in place as she slumped in the seat. A sea of dementors filled the air. One hovered directly above her, its hood already lowered—

"_Expecto patronum!_" Harry and Lupin yelled.

Wolf and stag thundered side by side down the hallway, toward the swooping dementors, driving them off. Ron got to her first. She was cold to the touch and utterly still.

"Is she... is she...?" Ron couldn't bring himself to say it. Ginny was checking her vitals, looking frantically for a pulse.

Lupin picked up an empty black vial from the floor, just beneath her limp hand. "It's Draught of Living Death," he realized. A ghost of a smile flitted over his features as he looked down admiringly at Hermione's unconscious form. Tonks and Kingsley freed her from the chains and eased her limp body into Ron's arms. "The brightest witch of her age, always one step ahead of everyone else. She tricked the dementors into thinking she was already dead, that there was no soul to take." He put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "She'll be fine, perfectly fine, once she wakes up."

* * *

It had been years since Draco had lost control over his magic. It had happened often when he had been a child, before he went to Hogwarts. But his magic hadn't been strong enough to cause any significant or lasting damage then, and a good beating from his father could stop it right in its tracks.

He had never experienced an explosion of magic of that magnitude. It left him utterly drained, and he drifted between consciousness and unconsciousness, too weak to open his eyes or resist drinking the liquid that was held to his lips from time to time.

He felt like he had shattered into a million pieces and now the pieces were slowly working themselves back together. He existed again, a corporeal human being. It took a moment to remember who he was, another to recall what had happened, and another to figure out why he was lying on a cold stone floor. It took all his strength to force open one eyelid, and he was momentarily blinded by the soft glow of wandlight from across the room.

It felt like ages had passed while he had slept. Why was that thought so troubling? Something important was supposed to happen...

Three days. Midnight. Granger. No!

He sat up suddenly so that the room wavered dangerously for a moment, but he managed to maintain consciousness.

"What day is it? What time?" he desperately asked whoever was holding the wand.

The light flew to the sconces, illuminating the entrance hall of Black Castle in a soft glow. Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape stepped in from the still-shadowy edges of the room.

Seeing them steadied Draco, made his control easier to grasp. He took a step forward but recoiled almost immediately as his body encountered a magical shield. He reached out experimentally and received another painful zap.

He fell back and affected a bored, yet confident stance. "How long was I out?"

"More than three days," Snape answered him, watching him closely

Three days! No, that meant... He was too late... She was already...

He had doomed her, he had damned her.

"Your Mudblood wife was saved by Potter and his band of merry Muggle-lovers early this morning, pitiably before the dementor had his way with her." A smirk curved Lucius' lips. "I can see why you married her, Draco. Tell me, is she as fuckable as she looks?"

Draco clenched his hands so tightly that his nails drew blood from his palm, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. "Why have you brought me here?"

"Do you mean, why did we save you from a most gruesome fate? You always were an ungrateful child, Draco." He sent a spell zooming toward Draco's head. Draco ducked just enough so that it missed and took out a chunk of rock from the wall where his head should have been. "You're lucky Severus and I are here to do the dirty work for you. We'll take care of your _wife_ soon."

"You won't touch her."

He said it in the same quiet, steady voice, but there was a menacing look in his eyes and a threat behind his tone.

There was a look of incomprehension on both Lucius' and Snape's faces. "But she is unnecessary," Snape said, frowning.

"Unnecessary for what, exactly?" Draco asked in clipped tones.

"Unnecessary for your destiny."

"Ah."

The pieces were finally all falling into place.

"Draco, you do understand what the prophecy says, don't you?" Snape asked.

"Of course he understands," Lucius said impatiently. "He's known about it for 20 years."

"Oh, are you still on about me being the next Dark lord?" Draco sighed boredly.

He got a dose of the Cruciatus for his cheek. The curse shot though his already exhausted body so that every muscle cried out in pain.

"If you've somehow managed to grow a conscience, miraculous as that would be under the circumstances of your upbringing," Snape said, glancing derisively at Lucius, who finally broke off the Curse, "then I will remind you that the prophecy said nothing about being a _Dark_ lord. You are destined for power, Draco. What you do with that power is entirely up to you."

"Perhaps this so-called conscience is a more recent development," Lucius sneered.

"You would give it all up for her?" Snape asked softly. "If the girl really loves you, Draco, she will love you even if you fulfill the prophecy."

"And if I really love her, I wouldn't do it."

Though his limbs shook out in protest, he pushed himself up off the floor.

"'If' being the significant word," Snape mused.

"There is no 'if'!" Lucius said. "Do you think you can run from your destiny, Draco? Hide from it? Defy it?"

"I believe we make our own destiny, Father," he answered steadily.

"And who is this 'we'?" Lucius taunted. "You and the Mudblood?" He stared hard at his son. "I heard your idiocy at the trial. Do you really imagine yourself in love with her? Yes, I said 'love', Draco!" he snapped at the momentary flicker of surprise on Draco's face. "Unlike Lord Voldemort, I know of love and its power. I have loved and I have lost, and I know how love prevents one from doing anything worthwhile!"

"You're nothing but an empty shell," Draco pronounced contemptuously. "A dementor could have done better with you. Mother was your only conscience, and you lost your soul when she died."

"Even now, you prove me correct," Lucius continued. "You're destined to become the greatest sorcerer ever to rule the wizarding world. And look at you. The last barrier to your supremacy is finally gone, and all you can worry about is a stupid, little Mudblood bitch."

"_Don't call her that!_"

_That, that, that._ His voice echoed back to him in the silence that followed, taunting. Lucius' sneer only became more pronounced, but Snape had a strange expression on his face.

"And why are you here?" Draco asked the former Potions Master. "You don't care about this prophecy any more than I do. Why have you thrown your lot in with him all these years, when he has never done anything for you?"

Snape's dark eyes glittered. "Because ... because I made a promise to your mother that I would protect you." he said softly, yet clearly. Lucius turned sharply to look at him, but Snape continued, unperturbed. "Because I made a promise to an old man that I would save you. And I've kept both those promises tonight."

"Severus, what—?"

"_Stupefy!_"

Lucius' body was thrown across the length of the room by the force of the spell. He slid down the wall and to the floor, unconscious.

With another wave of his wand, Snape freed Draco. "If she is truly what you want, if she is what you choose, if you're willing to defy your destiny, your upbringing, your _self_ for her, then take this."

Snape withdrew a small crystal vial of clear liquid from the sleeves of his robes and held it out to Draco. Draco made no move to take it.

"What is it?"

Snape lifted his other sleeve, exposing his Mark. It was almost completely gone. Almost. Draco lifted his own sleeve and saw his was as well.

"The Dark Mark: the Dark Lord's last revenge. He will take us all down with him." He thrust the vial into Draco's hand. "The poison is seeping into our blood, killing us. Only this will stop it."

Draco looked down uncomprehendingly at the antidote. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I truly have loved and lost and have regretted all my life that I could not save her. I would have given my life for hers, so now I give you the chance I did not have. If you are smart, you will take it and save yourself. If you are stupid ... well, then I wish Miss Granger a long and prosperous life, though she'll most likely squander it on having ten of Weasley's children."

"What about you?" Draco said. He glanced at his father's prostrate form. "What about...?"

"We have lived our lives, and we did so rather poorly," Snape said. "This is our destiny. Go make your own."

* * *

"Harry, Ron, this way," Lupin urgently beckoned them across the reception room to where he and Tonks stood. "It's Hermione. She's taken a turn for the worse."

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. After they had dropped her off at St. Mungo's early that morning, the Healers had assured them that she would be all right. Ginny, Tonks, and Lupin had stayed with her while Kingsley had gone straight back to the Ministry to do damage control. He and Ron had gone around to Fred and Angelina, and Bill and Fleur to tell them everything that had happened. An owl had been waiting for them when they returned to Grimmauld Place.

Harry glanced at Ron as they followed Lupin and Tonks down the corridor. The redhead had a lost, untethered look about him as he numbly moved in their wake.

"The Healers don't know what to do," Tonks explained. "She should have woken by now. They think she may have taken too much of the Draught of Living Death."

Ginny looked up as they burst into Hermione's room. "Thank God you made it," she said. "Her vitals are beginning to fail."

Ron came to a halt at the foot of Hermione's bed, staring at her intently as if he could will her to wake. "What does that mean?" he asked hoarsely.

"It means..." Ginny's voice broke, "It means she's dying, Ron."

"No! No, she can't be," he protested, grasping the bedrail with shaking hands.

"How long does she have?" Harry asked bravely.

"They don't know. Minutes, maybe. I don't know."

Ron let out a sound like a wounded animal. He threw himself at her side and gripped her cold hand with both of his. "Hermione, please, you can't leave me," he pleaded, breaking down. "We were supposed to... you can't..."

Harry was holding back tears himself as he gripped Ron's shoulder tightly. It couldn't end like this for her. They'd beaten Voldemort, they'd won the war. They were all supposed to live happily ever after now.

"What's that?" he asked suddenly, seeing her arm. "What happened to her Dark Mark?"

"It faded," Lupin said, "disappeared now that Voldemort's gone."

"No."

A hoarse voice rasped from the doorway. Everyone turned to see Draco Malfoy stagger into the room. His robes were dirty and ripped, his hair rumpled, and there was a few days' growth on his usually smooth jaw. He straightened slightly in their presence, but it was apparent only sheer will was keeping him upright.

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed. "What—?"

Draco stumbled to Hermione's bedside, opposite of where Ron was.

"There's Dark magic in it, and it's killing her," Draco said. "Killing us," he amended, falling to one knee as his leg refused to support him any longer.

Everyone gawked at him. Merlin, they could be thick sometimes.

Harry recovered first and dashed to the door. "We need some help here!" he yelled down the corridor. "A Healer, quickly!"

Draco thrust his hand into his pocket, feeling more and more sluggish with each passing second. His vision was beginning to blur, but Hermione remained crystal clear to him. His hands were shaking too violently as he tried to unstopper the vial.

Someone reached out and took it from him before he dropped it. Weaselette.

"What is it?" Ginny demanded, eyeing the clear liquid.

"It will stop ... the poison," Draco forced out. "Give her ... all..."

"What about you?"

"She's stopped breathing!" Ron said frantically. He grabbed Hermione's limp form by the shoulders and shook her. "_Hermione!_ Help, somebody! Please!

"Give it to her now!" Draco snapped.

Ginny didn't hesitate any longer. Lupin and Harry hauled the hysterical Ron away from her as Ginny unstoppered the vial, then she tipped its entire contents into Hermione's mouth.

Everyone held their breaths, waiting for Hermione to take one. She was still, utterly still.

_Please work. Please, please work._

A team of Healers and nurses rushed into the room, but Draco would not be moved, staring at Hermione as if he could will the life back into her.

"Wake up, Granger," Draco muttered. There was a tightness in his chest. It was getting hard to breathe. "_GRANGER, WAKE THE FUCK UP!_" he yelled, with his last breath.

Hermione gave a shuddering gasp. Draco felt a wave of relief crash over him ... crushing him... The world tilted and began to turn dark—

Hermione's eyes shot open, and she grabbed Draco and kissed him for all she was worth, like there weren't a dozen other people in the room, like her life depended on it ... because his certainly did.


	29. Draw

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 29: Draw**

_Draw: A game that ends without victory for either player._

Friday, February 13, 2004

* * *

Hermione stayed at St. Mungo's for nearly a month, under the constant supervision of Healers to ensure that all the Dark Magic was leaving her system. Ginny, who had started her formal training at St. Mungo's after impressing a Healer with her medical knowledge, was the mediwitch in charge of Hermione's case. The youngest Weasley was dancing circles around her fellow cohorts, having gotten so much practical experience during the war, and Hermione suspected they would be calling her 'Healer Weasley' before the year was out.

Hermione never lacked for visitors. There was always someone from the Order in her room during visiting hours, sometimes outside of them as well. Knowing the Minister of Magic and being best friends with the Boy Who Lived (Twice) did have its perks. They brought her books and other gifts and news of the outside world, which was slowly but surely rebuilding itself, and she was glad for it because it distracted her from thinking about him.

In the weeks she had been there, she hadn't seen Draco once. He had been confined for two weeks, and they had both been unconscious for most of that time. Somehow he had wrangled his way out of St. Mungo's and was now under the care of a private nurse at Malfoy Manor. She refused to think what Malfoy and his _nurse_ were getting up to in the privacy of the Manor, partly because she accidentally exploded the set of potions Ginny was administering to her when she found out.

Hermione's thoughts were straying into that dangerous territory again one afternoon when a large bouquet with legs materialized in the doorway of her room. She didn't need to see the shock of red hair sticking up over the top of the flowers to know who was holding them. Draco would never have picked such a hideous combination, but it was the thought that counted. She could clearly see that Ron had assembled the flowers himself, broken stems and crushed petals included.

"Lots of lavender," she said, as he laid the monstrous bouquet in her arms. "It smells glorious."

"I was just visiting Bill and Fleur," he explained. "Lavender's supposed to calm you down and help you sleep. I know you've been having trouble..."

Hermione smiled warmly as he sat down beside her bed. Yes, it was definitely the thought that counted.

"Ginny said you might be leaving soon," he said off-handedly.

"In a few days, hopefully."

"Do you know where you're going to go?" he asked in that same off-hand way.

"I hadn't ... really thought about it," she realized.

"Why don't you stay at Grimmauld?" he said in a rush. "Harry and Ginny have decided to stay there, you know. It's quite big, and I'm staying there, and they said you'd be more than welcome to stay, too, especially since George likes you so much." He misread the look on her face. "Not to look after George, of course, or cook or clean or anything. Of course not! I imagine you want to get a job. Harry and I are joining the Auror Office, and you'd be wicked at it ... if that's what you want. Kingsley's waving the N.E.W.T. requirement for us. But you could have any Ministry job you want, if that's ... what you want?" he asked uncertainly.

She couldn't help but laugh a little at the verbal deluge. "I really don't know what I want yet," she said honestly. "But I suppose, if Ginny and Harry don't mind, Grimmauld would be a good place to start."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Yeah, it would," he said warmly, taking her hand. Hermione let him.

* * *

"I hear you're going to be moving in with us, as if Ron isn't enough of a third wheel."

"Ron said you and Ginny were okay with it!" Hermione cried in dismay.

"Relax, Hermione, I was joking. We're more than okay with it. We're glad."

She and Harry were sitting in the courtyard, where patients could get fresh air. A Weather Charm kept the cold February air out, making it feel like spring.

"We've started fixing it up, you know," Harry said. "Finally got rid of Sirius' mum." He grinned. "Ginny took the sword of Gryffindor to her—"

"Why did you never tell me about the prophecy, Harry?" Hermione blurted out.

The look on his face told her plainly that he had been expecting her to ask this for some time now, but he took his time answering, choosing his words carefully. "It wasn't because I thought you'd choose the wrong side or that you weren't the powerful witch it talked about," he said. "Maybe that's what the others thought, but neither of those things ever crossed my mind." His eyes were pleading. "You have to believe me, Hermione. God, you'd kept _me_ from choosing the wrong side so many times. And who else could be the cleverest witch in a thousand years?"

"I believe you," she assured him. "And I can understand why the others thought those things and why _they_ wanted to keep the prophecy from me. But why did _you_, Harry, of all people? You know exactly what it's like to have a prophecy—"

"That's exactly why I kept it from you," he said, his eyes now haunted. "It was the first decision I truly made by myself, as the leader of the Order. You'd always been there for me, Hermione. You'd always been the voice of reason, the one person who would tell me what was right and wrong, who wasn't blinded by your own feelings or some other motive. But then you were hurt, and I had to make that decision alone. I made the wrong decision, I see that now, but I didn't want your life dictated by a prophecy, like mine was, forced to follow a certain path because someone said something once."

"Is that how you feel about it all, Harry?"

He frowned. "No... Well, yes, sometimes, but ... I don't regret it, really, apart from the part it played in my parents' deaths. I think I would have made the same decision, prophecy or not. I just wish I had more of a choice in the first place."

"I believe we make our own destiny," she said softly.

Harry looked at her sharply. She was staring off into space. "That sounds like something Malfoy would say," he accused.

"It is," she admitted vaguely. Her eyes slipped back into focus, as she slowly came to understand something. "It _is_ something he said. We make our own destinies. ... And I'm tired of waiting!" she realized. She stood, though she looked down perplexedly at her hospital bracelet, which tracked her location at so that the Healers and nurses would always know where she was in the building.

He gave her a half resigned, half exasperated look. "I suppose you'll be going to Malfoy, then?" She gave him a startled look. "The last time you said you were tired of waiting, you packed up your things and left Grimmauld Place with him." She flushed, but he merely took her hand, turning her wrist so that he could deactivate her bracelet. He smiled at the slightly stunned look on her face. "Ginny said they were going to let you go today, anyway. What's a few hours?"

"Harry, what about Ron?" she asked. "Everyone thinks we should be together."

"Ron?" Harry repeated. "Ron ... is another choice, Hermione. A better choice, if you ask me, if you ask anyone who knows you and cares about you. He worships the ground you walk on, and somehow I can't imagine Malfoy ever doing that. Ron will never be able to offer you the type of lifestyle Malfoy can, but I think he could still make you very happy. But it's not up to me, is it?"

"No, no, it isn't." She looked decidedly less excited than she had been a minute ago.

He put his hands on her shoulders. "I can't speak for anybody else, not even Ginny, but I'll stand by you no matter who you choose."

"Oh, Harry." She tiptoed to kiss him on the cheek. "I ... I don't know yet, but I know I've got to see Malfoy and figure out how things stand between us."

He nodded. "I'll bring your things back to Grimmauld. We were going to surprise you with a welcome home dinner, but maybe you'll be surprising us." He looked pained as he added, "You can bring Malfoy if that's what you end up choosing. I'll make sure everyone is civil."

"Thanks, Harry. We'll see." She hugged him tightly before hurrying off.

"Was that my patient who just ran off?"

Harry froze as Ginny spoke from behind him. He turned around, a guilty look on his face. She gave him a disapproving look.

"I suppose she's off to see Malfoy, then?" Harry nodded, bracing himself for the explosion. "Fine, _you_ get to tell Ron," she said tartly, turning on her heel and returning to her duties.

* * *

Draco glanced out the window of his office and spied a figure walking toward the Manor. He growled low in his throat. It was entirely too cold for Granger to be walking the mile from the Manor's gates to the front door. He hoped she froze before she arrived. He grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey that stood nearby on a spindly table with an assortment of other libations and poured himself a generous tumblerful. He was going to need it.

Hermione had been aiming for her bedroom, wanting to change into something ... more dignified before she met Draco, but she had landed right outside the gates. He must have enlarged and strengthened the Apparition block around the Manor, or revoked her access completely. She didn't want to think what that meant.

But the gates swung open to admit her when she tried them, and the front door, too.

"Draco?"

Her voice echoing in the entrance hall was the only response she got back. She glanced around. All the damage from when the Aurors had taken them in had been repaired. The house looked as dignified and as cold as ever. But the door to the east parlor stood half open, like an invitation.

He was standing in front of one of the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows that characterized the room, his silhouette a fine figure against the gauzy material of the curtains. He turned when she entered, a tumbler of Firewhiskey half finished in his hand. He was so utterly at ease she knew immediately it was an act, but she decided to play along.

"Bit early for that, isn't it, Malfoy?" she observed. He was even paler than before, if that were possible, and thinner, too. But he'd lost none of his aristocratic air or confident swagger. If anything, they had increased tenfold.

He raised his glass to toast her. "To your health, Granger."

"Are you entirely sure you should be—?"

"Relax, my nurse said it was fine."

"Your nurse?" she repeated calmly, though her hands clenched. Draco noticed the motion with some satisfaction.

"Yes, Ritzy. She's just popped off to St. Mungo's to get some potions for me."

Hermione made a mental note to kill Ginny Weasley. "Ghastly stuff, the potions, aren't they?" she said airily, walking to the window to see what was so terribly interesting outside.

Draco shrugged. "I've had worse, but then again, I suppose I've built up more of an immunity to Dark magic than you have," he drawled. In the better light, he could see how utterly ... fragile she looked, like a good gust of wind could blow her away. Well, dying did that to you.

Her expression softened. "Is that why you stayed away?" she asked quietly. "You blame yourself for what happened to me?"

He swallowed the rest of his Firewhiskey in one gulp. "I was the one who got you Marked, Granger."

"You were also the one who saved me," she reminded him. "And you almost died yourself!"

"Is that why you're here, Granger? Because you feel you owe me a debt? Well, I won't hold you to it, if that's what you're afraid of. You're free to leave and find your happily ever after somewhere else."

"Is that why you think I'm here?" she asked sharply. She was struggling to keep up with him, as always. "Because I feel obligated? You don't think I _choose_ to be here, that I _want _to be here?"

"You already made your choice, Granger. You didn't choose here." She had gone very still, realizing he must have overheard her conversation with Ron at St. Mungo's. Draco was looking anywhere but at her. "And you chose right. We're no good for each other."

She let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. There it was. The plain and simple truth. And it hurt.

"A marriage of true convenience," she said bitterly. "And now that it's served its purpose, it's no longer convenient. Is that right, Malfoy?"

"Don't you know why I chose you for all this?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the grandeur of Malfoy Manor. "Because you were the only one who could do it." His arms fell limply to his sides. "And now it's done."

Silence fell between them. There was a cool indifference in his expression. Amusement, anger, derision—she would have known how to deal with those. But not indifference.

"I'll need a few hours to move my things." The words came out slow and awkward as she tried to understand what was happening.

"Take all the time you need," he said courteously. "And please, feel free to take anything that I gave you: the clothes, jewelry, anything."

So that was the sum total of what she was to him: clothes, jewelry, and whatever else he'd bought for her.

"Thanks."

He nodded once, then bowed deeply to her, as he had the night he had taken her from Grimmauld Place, after they shook hands on their deal. And that's all it had ever been: a deal. The gesture was perfectly fitting, as anything Draco ever did was. Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. She almost called him back. Almost.


	30. Resign

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 30: Resign**

_Resign: To concede loss of the game._

Friday, February 13, 2004_  
_

* * *

Draco hit his wardrobe with all the strength he could muster. The first blow didn't make any mark on the hard wood at all. The second blow left a promising dent. The third cracked the wood and the bones in his hand. He'd burned the Death Eater regalia it had contained a week ago, as soon as he could make it out of bed.

Draco took a step back and surveyed the damage with faint derision. He felt calmer now, in control once more, though that outburst of emotion shouldn't have been necessary. He realized belatedly he should have at least punched with his non-wand hand, as healing bones was a tricky business and not something he wanted to attempt with his non-dominant hand, so he just wrapped his hand with a handkerchief to stop the bleeding until Ritzy came back and could fix it for him.

But staying under the same roof as _her_, no matter for how brief a time, was not an option. He threw on his cloak and left the house. In a few hours, she would be gone, and things would go back to perfect, predictable, pureblooded normalcy.

His feet led him to his mother's grave. It was a ways behind the house, hidden by a dense little cluster of trees. He could feel Hermione watching him as he cut across his property, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him look back. She was standing on the verandah outside the Malfoy bedroom—Merlin knows what she was doing up there—and she could freeze to death for all he cared.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? He cared.

He stood at the foot of his mother's grave, frowning at her headstone, where the words 'Narcissa Black Malfoy' were engraved on pure white marble.

"Well, Mother?" he snapped. "Have I finally done you proud? Was years running between the Order and Voldemort like a lunatic with a death wish enough? Defeating the Dark Lord, too? Oh, I know I married a Mudblood along the way, but that'll be over soon enough. Don't worry, the Black and Malfoy lines will be purely preserved."

Yet somehow, he had an inkling his mother would be more horrified at the prospect of a Malfoy losing something to a Weasley, even if it was a Muggle-born, Gryffindor know-it-all.

He fell to his knees, hands limply at his sides. The snow soothed his now-throbbing hand.

"I never meant to fall in love with her, Mother. It just happened, I suppose. But it'll never work. We'll end up hating each other, or worse, and I'd rather end it now than see it come to that." He cleared his throat and looked up at the darkening sky. "You know, I've a mind to marry Astoria Greengrass after all. Pureblood, but no Death Eater ties. The Malfoys will be perfectly respectable once more."

It seemed like a pretty poor consolation prize, but it would be something. He smirked. The look on Pansy's face would be something, too. He magicked a bouquet of white roses at the base of her headstone, then Disapparated.

* * *

There were already boxes in the foyer of Grimmauld Place. Granger never was anything but efficient.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, though he didn't look all that surprised to see him, merely resigned. "Where's Hermione?"

"Oh, she'll be along shortly," he assured him. "It's Weasley I wanted to see."

"_Ron?_" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes, the idiot one. Oh, wait, I suppose that applies to more than one of them. Yes, that one."

Harry crossed his arms. "Why?"

"That's between him and me."

Their conversation had attracted attention. Lupin and Tonks had come down the stairs, Ginny was peeking out from the reconstructed study, and, bingo, Ron's head popped out of the kitchen.

"What's going on?" he said thickly, cheeks full to bursting with food.

"Ah, just the man I wanted to see," Draco said with fake joviality, swaggering over to where Ron stood. Quicker than a blink of an eye, he had him pinned up against the wall, the tip of his wand poking into Ron's throat.

"You win, Weasley," he said in a low voice. "But if I ever hear that you've mistreated her in any way, if she's ever unhappy because of you for one _second_, I will not hesitate to find you and kill you. And I promise you, it will be a slow and painful death. I may not have the Mark anymore, but you'll be wishing for Voldemort himself to come back to life before I'm through with you."

To his credit, Ron didn't look at all scared. "So you're finally letting her go, are you?" he said.

Draco let out a derisive laugh. "You still don't get it, do you, Weasley? I haven't been keeping her. She's always had a choice, and for some reason, she chose you."

"What happened to your hand?" Ginny demanded.

The silk handkerchief he had used to bind his hand was now soaked through with blood that was dripping steadily onto the floor.

"What the hell have you done to her?" Ron roared, switching their positions with one deft move and slamming Draco against the wall, his fingers encircling Draco's throat. "If you have laid one hand on her—"

"Get off me, Weasley," Draco spat. If he hadn't nearly _died _a month ago, Weasley would never have been able to pull that on him. "I haven't touched a hair on her big, bushy head." He shoved Ron off of him, with some help, surprisingly, from Ginny.

"Come on, let me take a look at that," she said, drawing him into the study. "That looks bad."

She smartly shut the door behind them before anyone could follow them.

"It's fine," he said tersely.

"It's not fine," she contradicted. "It's broken."

She had no idea. "What do you care, Weaselette?"

"I care ... because Hermione's cares, ferret boy," she said, pushing him down into a chair. His face betrayed no emotion as she untied the handkerchief and began siphoning off the blood with her wand. "And from that little display of yours out there, it's obvious you care about her, too. So what's this nonsense about Ron winning?"

"It's none of your business. She's coming back here, and that's the end of the story." He couldn't help the grunt of pain that escaped him as she healed the bones in his hand with no warning.

"Then you're a bigger idiot than I thought," she decided, pocketing her wand. She pointed imperiously toward the street. "Get out of my house."

Taking his time, he stood and straightened his robes, smoothed his hair, and walked out of the room. Everyone was still standing where they had left them.

Only Draco Malfoy could walk past them without an ounce of embarrassment. He inclined his head toward them mockingly on his way out, in the old pureblood style. He was nearly out the door before Ron spoke.

"I found a way to break your Vows," Ron said, almost casually. Draco paused. "Break the rings, break the Vows. It's that easy, Malfoy."

"I know. I've always known," he replied simply, before he vanished.

* * *

Hermione was sitting at her vanity in her bedroom at Malfoy Manor, but her mind was far away. It was in her bedroom in her childhood home in Oxford, reliving a memory of her mother from years ago.

She had gone home for the Christmas holidays during her sixth year. Ron and Harry were at the Burrow, and she couldn't think about Ron without wanting to sob or break something or both. Her mother had caught her in the middle of a good cry when she was up in her room studying and had demanded to know what was the matter. Within minutes she had told her everything.

_"But I lo-ove him," Hermione sobbed into her mother's lap. _

_"Don't hate me when I say this, dear," Mrs. Granger began, stroking her only daughter's untamable hair, "because I know you're mature far beyond your years, but I believe you're too young to know what love truly is." _

_"I can't believe I almost asked him to Professor Slughorn's party," Hermione said, furiously swiping at the tears on her cheeks. "I'm so stupid! I thought he felt the same way, but I should have been sure before I let on how I felt. I'm never going to let myself love someone ever again!"_

_Mrs. Granger couldn't help but smile at her daughter's vehemence. "You are anything but stupid, my dearest girl. And perhaps, in a few years, when Ron has grown up a bit, and if you still feel the same way, the two of you can start a relationship on more equal terms."_

_"You think?" Hermione asked tremulously._

_"He's always seemed like such a nice boy. But he is a boy, and boys can be quite stupid sometimes. At least he isn't cruel, like that other boy that used to torment you so, the one with the funny name. __Just don't lock your heart away too tightly, Hermione," her mother warned, placing a kiss on her forehead. "There will always be a little risk when you're in love. It's a very vulnerable position to be in."_

She could still feel her mother's fingers brushing her hair, her kiss still tingling on her forehead. She looked into the mirror, expecting to see in the reflection a 17-year-old Hermione staring back at her. Strangely, she felt closer to that Hermione than the one who had spent all those years hiding in Grimmauld Place.

Draco strolled down his hallway and headed for Hermione's room. He heard the house-elves talking about the mistress being "all done moving" though they weren't sure if "the master would like her taking his things as well". He had almost laughed aloud. Almost. She could take the silverware if she wanted to. He could care less.

Her door was open. She was sitting at her vanity, clearly lost in thought. The rest of her room was empty, and he was glad to see she had taken all the things he'd bought her. He would have burned it otherwise. He stood silently in the doorway, watching her, wondering what was going on in that brilliant mind of hers.

Her eyes slowly came back into focus and met his in the mirror.

"I was just coming to tell you that I was leaving," she said. "For Grimmauld Place," she clarified.

"Of course. I'll send for a carriage to bring you and your things to the gates, and then you can Apparate from there."

"No, thank you. I've already moved my things, and I'd much prefer to walk."

His jaw tightened at her stubbornness. "All right, then. I'll go with you to make sure you don't pass out and freeze to death halfway there. I won't be responsible for starting the Third Wizarding War if you die on the grounds of Malfoy Manor."

He turned and walked away, leaving her to follow him.

The drive was kept free of snow, so it was fairly easy going. Draco modified his rather angry pace to a more leisurely, careless stroll. It wasn't like he was upset or anything, or that he'd noticed she was having trouble keeping up with his longer strides.

They walked the first hundred yards in silence, a silence that grew more uncomfortable with every step. Draco kept his eyes trained straight ahead of him, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione glancing at him every so often.

"Draco..."

Suddenly he could not stand to hear her or tell him how much better they would be without each other.

"Weasley found a way to break the Vow," Draco said suddenly.

"What?" she exclaimed in surprise. "How?"

Draco determinedly avoided her gaze. "All we have to do is destroy our rings."

"That's all?"

"The rings are the physical embodiment of the Vows. As long as they exist, the Vows remain."

"Interesting."

"Don't you understand what that means?" he demanded.

"We don't have to spend the rest of our lives married to each other."

"There is a slight problem."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Our rings are goblin-wrought. Indestructible."

"Oh, there's a way to destroy indestructible metal," she assured him.

"There is?" His voice was carefully devoid of all emotion.

"Oh, yes. That's not going to be any problem."

Draco thought it very befitting that a depressing combination of rain and snow started to fall at that precise moment. Hermione hurried on toward the gates. Draco followed more slowly in her wake, a bitter smile on his lips as he watched her walk on ahead.

Well, he wouldn't be the one to ruin her happiness. He would see her off without a fuss and then go home and hang himself or something. Though he supposed hanging was bit overly dramatic... No, he supposed he would have to live and suffer and watch her be with Weasley ... the lucky bastard.

She had paused at the gates. He took his time in joining her, knowing this was the end.

* * *

Instead of Apparating straight into Grimmauld Place, Hermione materialized in the cemetery across the square. As she slowly wove her away around the graves, she read the names on the headstones, allowing her memories to wash over her: Neville Longbottom. Seamus Finnigan. Lee Jordan. Dean Thomas. Molly and Arthur Weasley.

She finally reached the graves of her parents. Kneeling between them, she magicked two bouquets of flowers onto their headstones, white roses against the white snow.

"I made a choice today, Mum, Dad," she spoke quietly. "It was a dreadfully important and difficult choice, one that will affect and maybe haunt me for the rest of my life. I'm not sure it was the right decision, but I'm going to stick with it for as long as I live. He loves me, and I know he'll care for me, and that's all I want. I wish you were here to say you were proud of me or disappointed or anything. Really, I just wish you were here."

From Grimmauld Place, Harry caught sight of the lone figure in the cemetery through the window of the drawing room he and Ginny were cleaning out.

"She's here," he said, frowning. "And Malfoy isn't with her."

"They must have broken their Vows, then," Ginny said, though she, too, was frowning.

"Oi, Hermione's here!" Ron yelled, thundering down the stairs.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Hermione got to her feet and saw Harry, Ginny, Ron, Lupin, and Tonks standing in front of Grimmauld Place, watching her, waiting for her. She waved and walked over.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, seeing her tears. "Have you and Malfoy—?"

"Don't even say that git's name," Ron said. Grinning broadly, he bounded down the steps to meet her. "Welcome back, Hermione! When are you going to move in?"


	31. Norm

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 31: Norm**

_Norm: A performance at a chess tournament that indicates a player is ready to receive a title, or the level of performance needed._

Friday, February 13, 2004

* * *

_One Hour Earlier_

"Weasley found a way to break the Vow," Draco said suddenly.

"What?" she exclaimed in surprise. "How?"

Draco determinedly avoided her gaze. "All we have to do is destroy our rings."

"That's all?"

"The rings are the physical embodiment of the Vows. As long as they exist, the Vows remain."

"Interesting."

"Don't you understand what that means?" he demanded.

"We don't have to spend the rest of our lives married to each other."

"There is a slight problem."

She raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Our rings are goblin-wrought. Indestructible."

"Oh, there's a way to destroy indestructible metal," she assured him.

"There is?" His voice was carefully devoid of all emotion.

"Oh, yes. That's not going to be any problem."

Draco thought it very befitting that a depressing combination of rain and snow started to fall at that precise moment. Hermione hurried on toward the gates. Draco followed more slowly in her wake, a bitter smile on his lips as he watched her walk on ahead.

Well, he wouldn't be the one to ruin her happiness. He would see her off without a fuss and then go home and hang himself or something. Though he supposed hanging was bit overly dramatic... No, he supposed he would have to live and suffer and watch her be with Weasley ... the lucky bastard.

She had paused at the gates. He took his time in joining her, knowing this was the end.

She had one hand curled around an iron bar, knuckles white. She turned suddenly. He was closer than she had anticipated, so she had to tilt her head back to look up at him. Draco kept all emotion from his face as he endured her intense gaze, but Hermione did not have the same success keeping her expression neutral. He saw uncertainty, anxiety, and an almost painful wistfulness pass across her face in rapid succession as she gazed at him.

"Yes?" he asked in that same polite, formal tone.

She twisted her hands together nervously. "You see, you were right: I believe in absolutes," she said, speaking rapidly. "People are either good or bad. Decisions are either right or wrong. Grey areas, inconsistencies, exceptions—they're all just ... data that hasn't been classified yet.

"You were the quintessential absolute, Malfoy. You were a bad person, someone so absolutely evil and mean-spirited there was no room for any goodness. But then you joined the Order. And then I was so confused because you didn't make sense anymore.

"And then all this happened, and I slowly realized you're the exception, _my_ exception. You're my grey area. You're my inconsistency. You're a bad person who became a great person. And my decision ... I have no idea if it's good or bad. But there is one absolute about you." She was looking at him with that painful wistfulness again, her eyes pleading with his.

"What is it?" he asked softly, restraining himself from reaching out to her.

"I'm absolutely in love with you," she whispered. "I'm absolutely positive I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But if you want the rings destroyed, I'll tell you how, right now. I remember the title of the book and the number of the page." She let out a hollow laugh that was half a sob. "You have it here, in your library."

Recklessly, impulsively, he seized her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes, trying to see if there was truth behind her words.

"Do you honestly think that's what I want?" he demanded, shaking her slightly. Or was he the one shaking?

"I don't know!" she said honestly. "I never know when it comes to you!"

And so he kissed her, so that she might know exactly how he felt about her. She clutched at his forearms, fingers digging into his skin as the world slowly disappeared around them until it was only them that existed.

"I love you, Hermione Jean Granger," he said intensely, when they had to pull apart for air. "I meant what I said that day: I never meant for it to happen, but it still did. Against all the odds, despite everything, I _love_ you."

Trembling, she lay her head against his chest and wound her arms around his waist, holding on to him as tightly as he was holding her. He ran a comforting hand down her back.

"So all your things...?"

Her voice was muffled in the fabric of his robes. "I moved them to the master bedroom. Yours, too."

He closed his eyes and shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Always one step of ahead of everyone, aren't you, Granger? When did you decide you were staying?"

"The minute you walked out of the room." Her voice broke. "I never wanted to see you do that again without knowing for sure you'd be back."

"Oh, Granger," he sighed. "What in the world am I going to do with you?" A thought occurred to him. He bent his head over hers and whispered in her ear, "I want you to forget."

"What?" she said in alarm, tearing herself away from him to look at him with horrified, haunted eyes.

His grey eyes smoldered as he gripped her shoulders and held her at arm's length. "I want you to forget that we were born enemies. I want you to forget our sick, twisted past. I want you to forget how awful I was to you for all these years."

"Oh, Draco," she reached up to touch his cheek. "I'll do better than forget our past. I'll forgive it."

He didn't think he could love her any more, but then she said that, and he realized there could be no bounds for his love for Hermione Granger.

"There is one other thing I want you to forget completely," he said. "The page number of that book—"

She looked up at him and smiled. "I can't seem to remember it at the moment."

Draco smirked back. "When do you think it will come to you?"

"Oh, in 25 years or so?"

"How about 50?"

"How about I just burn it?"

"Don't you consider that some sort of sin?" he asked, amused.

"The highest sort of blasphemy," she agreed happily.

"Blasphemy," he repeated, looking at her intently once more.

"The highest sort," she added, searching his face anxiously. Both knew they were no longer talking about burning books.

"You have to be sure this is truly what you want, Granger. I can't lie to you and say this is the start of our happily ever after. Very far from it. We're damning ourselves to hell and back. No one will understand or accept us. We'll have to fight every single step of the way."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she said, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers.

"It's not going to be easy," he gave his final warning.

"When has it ever been easy for us?" she demanded. And she looked so indignant that he simply had to kiss her, so he did.

"Gets easier every time," he smirked, moving to close the gap between them once more. He stopped, a thought occurring to him. "Wonder what Potty and Weasel are going to say?"

* * *

"Welcome back, Hermione! When are you going to move in?"

"Actually, Ron, I..."

"She isn't going to be moving in, at least not with you, Weasley."

Hermione slowly closed her eyes as she felt Draco materialize beside her, grateful for his appearance but exasperated by it all the same.

"What do you mean by that, Malfoy?" Ron said warningly.

"Draco and I have decided not to try and break our Vows," Hermione said delicately, hoping Ron would get the hint.

"Why not?" Ron demanded. "It'll work, I'm sure of it."

She cast a helpless look at the others. Lupin and Tonks were smiling. Harry and Ginny had followed suit. "What I mean to say is, we've decided we don't want to," she said miserably.

"Don't sound too thrilled about it," Draco drawled. "What she means to say is, we're staying married." To illustrate the matter because Weasley was always particularly slow, he put his arm around Hermione's shoulder and pulled her to him. She didn't resist.

"W-what?" Ron's eyes bugged out of his head. "B-but—"

Draco sighed with an air of tried patience. "You see, it's like this, Weasley: I've rather come to like playing consummate the marriage with Granger—"

"_WHAT?!_"

"Don't be crass, Malfoy," Hermione snapped.

Draco rolled his eyes. "All right, fine. I've come to _love_ Granger—"

"—and I've come to reciprocate his feelings," Hermione finished primly. Draco almost rolled his eyes again. Almost.

"You l-love _Malfoy_?"

"Against my better judgment, yes," Hermione said. She frowned and automatically reached out toward him. "I'm so sorry, Ron—"

"It's all right, Hermione, I don't want your pity," Ron said, flinching out of her reach. He frowned, realizing something. Everyone watched him carefully. "It's all right," he repeated slowly, looking as if a great weight were being lifted off him. He grinned suddenly. "It's all right, Hermione!"

He let out a whoop and, disregarding the murderous look Draco was giving him, grabbed Hermione and lifted her off the ground, whirling her around like a mad man.

"It's all right, Hermione! I don't love you!"

"Er ... thanks?"

"Whooo! I'm not in love with you!" he proclaimed, loud enough for the whole street to hear.

"Well, good, I'm not in love with you either," Fred Weasley said, announcing his arrival.

Ron unceremoniously dropped Hermione and launched himself at his brother. "Fred!"

Fred quickly stepped to the side to avoid Ron's hug. "I can't say the say the same for her, though, Won-Won."

Ron caught himself just in time to keep from tackling the person who had been standing behind Fred.

"Hello, Ron," she said shyly.

"_Lav?_"

* * *

Everyone had discreetly retreated into Grimmauld Place, leaving Ron and Lavender to reacquaint themselves in private.

"Do you need any help, Harry?" Hermione asked, hovering behind him and Ginny at the stove.

Everyone else exchanged worried glances behind her back.

"No, it's all right, Mione," Ginny said quickly. "Why don't you just have a seat? It's been a busy day for you."

Harry was just a tad late rearranging his features to go with his girlfriend's solicitous comment. Hermione swelled impressively. "Harry James Potter—"

"Listen, Hermione, you're brilliant at a lot of things," Harry said, "but cooking is not one of them. You're atrocious at it, really," he added, earning a dishtowel snap from Ginny.

"Technically I have claim to this house, Potter," Draco drawled. "So keep that in mind next time you want to insult my wife's cooking." Hermione tossed him a grateful look, but he added, "I'll save that right for myself. Thank Merlin we have house-elves."

"Draco Xanthus Malfoy—"

"Xanthus!" Harry repeated, nearly dropping the pot he was carrying to the table. He looked like Christmas had come early. "I'd nearly forgotten!"

"Don't think I've forgotten about what you said about my cooking." Fumbling for her wand, Hermione started after Harry, but as much as he would have liked to see Potter have his ass handed to him by his wife, Draco pulled her down to sit beside him at the table instead.

"What will the two of you do now?" Lupin asked, as he and Tonks sat down opposite them.

Hermione and Draco glanced at each other. "I don't really know," Hermione said honestly. "We haven't thought that far ahead. I suppose we'll have to look for jobs."

"Jobs?" Draco repeated uncomprehendingly.

Harry grinned as he worked his way around the table, setting it for dinner. "Welcome to the new world order, Malfoy. Why don't you both join Ron and me in the Auror Office? You did take out most of their work force when you were being arrested."

"No better time, either," Tonks said. "I'll be taking maternity leave in a few months."

"Maternity leave?! Oh, Tonks, Remus, congratulations! That's so exciting!"

"Well, how about it, Malfoy?" Harry said, as Hermione continued to pepper Lupin and Tonks with questions. "You can do our paperwork if you're scared of breaking a nail, and Hermione can save our asses, as usual."

"I have an alternate proposal." A booming voice echoed in the entryway.

"Kingsley! I mean, Minister," Harry put down another plate. "We thought you might be too busy to make it."

"Too busy for the Order of the Phoenix? Never," Kingsley said as he ducked under the low doorway.

"You look exhausted," Ginny said. "Harry, pour the Minister a drink."

"Yeah, Harry, pour us all a round!" Fred added.

"Rebuilding government isn't as easy as it looks," Kingsley said, nursing a tumbler of Firewhiskey as he took his old spot at the foot at the table. "And that's where my proposal comes into play."

"Oh?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow. He did an excellent impression of reclining despite the fact he was sitting on a bench.

"Hermione, I believe you would be an excellent fit for Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I know you've championed rights for our non-human friends since you were in school. Everyone who falls under the jurisdiction of that department has either been persecuted by the Ministry or was lured over to Voldemort's side, so there's a lot of work to be done there. What do you say, Madam Malfoy?"

"Oh, Godric, that's all we need," Fred muttered. "Government-sanctioned spew."

In the future, Hermione would admit that it was this comment more than anything that made her accept the position. "Thank you very much, Minister! I accept," she said, shooting a defiant glare in Fred's direction. "Oh, and it'll still be 'Granger'," she added as an afterthought.

"If you're not going to consult your husband before accepting a job offer, Granger, the least you could do is take my name."

"_You_ still call her 'Granger'," Tonks reminded her cousin.

"Wolf boy here still calls you 'Tonks'," he retorted.

"That's 'Professor Lupin' to you," Tonks shot back. "The new board of governors just offered him the Defense Against the Dark Arts post," she said proudly.

"I know," Draco muttered. "I'm _on_ the board."

"Oh, Remus, that's wonderful!" Hermione said. "Will you both live at the castle then?"

"No, I've just bought the Shrieking Shack, actually. We decided to take a leaf out of Harry and Ginny's book and start fixing it up."

It took everything in Draco's power not to make any sort of comment at this revelation. Having Hermione's knee aimed at a significant part of his anatomy helped.

Draco clapped. "Excellent, now that everyone has a job," he said, shifting out of Hermione's reach, "what's for dinner, Red?"

Kingsley fixed Draco with his gaze. "There is still you to consider, Master Malfoy."

"You already took the job I want," Draco answered promptly.

"Would Head of Magical Law Enforcement be a good consolation prize?" Kingsley returned without missing a beat.

Draco looked at Kingsley appraisingly, trying to determine if he was being serious. "Are you daft? You'll get run out of office for appointing a Malfoy and a former Death Eater to that position."

"_I'm_ a Malfoy and a former Death Eater, too," Hermione reminded him.

Draco gave her an affectionately exasperated look. "You were Hermione Granger first, and that makes a world of difference."

"I believe you can make a world of difference at MLE," Kingsley said smoothly. "You have excellent leadership skills, even if you've only had practice with Death Eaters. You exude a certain ... air of authority that will not be challenged." His dark eyes gleamed. "And what better than a Malfoy and a former Death Eater to make sure people follow the law?"

Draco smirked at that. Shacklebolt was turning out to be one hell of a politician.

"You're not actually considering it, are you?" Harry interjected. "I thought Malfoys don't condescend to anything so low-class as a job."

Draco's smirk turned into a full-fledged grin. "Not unless said job means I get to be your boss, Potter. The Auror Office is under Magical Law Enforcement, is it not?"

Harry's look of utter dismay was the first thing Ron noticed as he and Lavender walked in.

"What's wrong?" he said immediately. "Voldemort's not back, is he?"

The whole room burst into laughter then, except Harry.

"No, Ron. It's worse than that," he said, sinking dejectedly into his seat at the head of the table. "Much, much worse."


	32. Endgame

**Disclaimer:** All J.K. Rowling's

* * *

**SHADOWS OF OURSELVES  
Chapter 32: Endgame**

_Endgame: The stage of the game when there are few pieces left on the board.  
__In this case, the end!_

Thursday, September 1, 2011

* * *

_Seven Years Later_

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat on the highest hill of the Hogwarts grounds, the September breeze with just a hint of chill whipping around them as the Opening Feast continued in the Great Hall.

"You do realize that today it's been exactly 20 years since we first met?" Hermione said happily.

"Blimey, is that all?" Ron asked. Harry shoved him, but before Ron could retaliate, a movement in the distance caught his attention, and he groaned. "Speaking of people we met 20 years ago, here comes our favorite one."

Harry and Hermione followed where Ron was looking and saw four very blonde figures—one tall, three significantly shorter—headed in their direction.

"He looks more like a nanny than an ex-Death Eater," Ron snickered. He hesitated before adding delicately, "Wonder where his wife is?"

"Probably off gallivanting with her friends," Hermione said with a deliberately careless shrug.

Harry shot a quick look at Hermione. "You would never know who their mother is from looking at them."

Hermione ignored him as she watched Draco Malfoy walk effortlessly up the hill with his three young daughters in tow.

"Ferret face," Harry finally acknowledged, as it was impossible to ignore him now.

"Scarhead," he replied with equal cordiality.

"Mal-ferret," Ron said.

"Weasel."

Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes at this ritual the men got into every time they crossed paths. "Malfoy," she nodded curtly.

"Granger," he returned with the same cool cordiality.

"Stuck as babysitter again?" Harry observed.

"My wife is neglecting her duties again, so, yes," he said, shifting the youngest blonde beauty to his other arm.

"We were just wondering who their mother is," Ron said. "They look too much like you."

Draco smirked. "You say that like it's a bad thing." He glanced down at Aurora, who was fast asleep in his arms. "What can I say? Beauty begets beauty."

"Pansy Parkinson!" Harry said suddenly, snapping his fingers. "She must be the lucky Mrs. Malfoy. Only she would put up with a narcissistic git like this."

Hermione threw Harry a look of disgust and stood up, bringing the five-year-old Athena with her. "Pretending last week that their mother is some random scarlet woman was very well, Harry, but Pansy Parkinson pushes it."

"If I were married to Pansy, I'd have to self-procreate for my kids to look even remotely human," Draco added.

"Now, that, Malfoy, is something I never want to see," Ron declared. He grinned at Hermione. "Sorry, forgot you actually _do_ put up with this git."

Hermione looked at Athena. "I don't know why I put up with any of them, do you?"

"I don't know, Mama," her daughter answered seriously.

"Let's switch, Granger," Draco said. "Athena's too heavy for you." Hermione opened her mouth to object, but he cut her off. "Healer Potter said you weren't supposed to lift anything heavy, _dear_."

Hermione's mouth snapped shut as she glared at him. Harry and Ron groaned.

"Not again?" Ron said. "Who are you competing with, Mione?"

"All the Weasleys put together?" Harry suggested, for now there were many Weasley descendants.

"No, I'm trying to stay even with the Potters," she replied coolly, causing Harry to flush. "Is it twins again this time?"

He looked uncomfortably at his brother-in-law. "Maybe," he admitted.

Ron groaned again.

"Switch, Granger," Draco ordered.

"Mummy! I want Mummy!" The newly awakened Aurora wailed, quite sealing the deal.

"Maybe the next one will be a boy, eh, Malfoy?" Harry said, watching Draco and Hermione expertly handle the delicate maneuvering required to switch children. "We heard you whining for a son the other day."

"Malfoys do _not_ whine."

"And I do _not_ have a scar on my forehead."

"Regardless of whether it's a boy or a girl..." Hermione started.

"Not Slytherin," Harry said in a high falsetto meant to mimic Hermione's voice.

"Not Gryffindor," Ron said, also in a high voice that was supposed to mimic Draco's.

"I was going to say not his hair," Hermione sniffed.

"Then, not yours either," Draco countered, eyeing her bushy mane.

"Wow, you're such good parents," Harry said sarcastically.

"Wishing your kid to be _bald_," Ron added.

If looks could kill...

"I think we've upset Master and Madam Malfoy," Harry muttered to Ron.

Ron groveled in imitation of the old pureblood/underling way. "Oh, I humbly crave your forgiveness—_ouch!_"

Hermione smartly swatted him on the back of the head. Draco nodded approvingly.

"Excellent, Granger. I knew that ring would come in handy someday."

"_Hand_-y. Good one, Master Malfoy."

"Actually, I have a new title, Potter, if The Boy Who Lived Twice didn't notice."

"Oh, my apologies, King Malfoy—"

"Isn't Weasley our king?" Hermione interjected absently.

Harry shook his head mournfully at Ron. "You're right. He is rubbing off on her."

"Well, he's bound to after eight years," Hermione admitted.

"And you liked every minute of it," Draco smirked suggestively.

"_Oi_, children present! _Your_ children I might add," Ron said, covering Ariana's ears.

"Speaking of new titles, we should celebrate," Harry said, swinging Ariana up onto his shoulders. "Why don't we go to my place and—"

"Your place?" Draco repeated. "We're not sardines. Gather your wives and spawn altogether and come over to the Manor."

"An invitation to the Manor from the Lord and Master himself!" Ron said. "Now I can die in peace."

"Want me to oblige you, Weasley? I can't ensure it'll be peaceful, but the death part—"

"Do come over," Hermione urged. "We know you were planning a surprise party for us, and we're touched, but—"

"It'll be standing room only if we all squeeze into Grimmauld Place," Draco muttered.

"—we can all have a good time at the Manor," Hermione continued, speaking over her husband, "and the children can have that tea party they've been begging for."

"A good time at your house, Hermione?" Harry said skeptically. "Hey!" He dodged her blow easily. "All right, all right, we'll come! Honestly, Hermione, are you sure _you're_ not having twins? The hormones..." Harry glanced at Draco and was pleased to see he looked a tad paler, if that were possible.

Hermione shrugged nonchalantly. "You never can tell at this stage." She unceremoniously deposited Aurora, who had fallen back asleep, into Ron's arms and held out her hand for Ariana, who clambered down from her perch.

"Race you down the hill?"

The four-year-old, who was the only one of the three sisters who could imitate her mother with annoying (for Hermione) and delightful (for her uncles and father) accuracy, followed her mother's lead, and they were soon disappearing down the sloping grounds.

"Granger!" Draco called out, using his longer strides to catch up with them without running because he refused to appear flustered. Athena bounced patiently in his arms. "Granger, be _careful_. Honestly—Weaselette said—and if you _are_ carrying twins—"

Ron and Harry glanced at each other in the deepening gloom as they followed at a slower pace.

"Hermione's Headmistress of Hogwarts," Harry said, shaking his head. "Godric help our children once they start going here."

"Forget that!" Ron said. "Malfoy's Minister of Magic! Merlin help us all."

* * *

They caught up with the Granger-Malfoys on the path leading to the castle doors.

"Well, what do we have here?" Draco drawled.

Despite his tone, his mouth hardened into a grim line at the sight of at least two dozen reporters and photographers waiting near the castle.

"I thought you put a stop to this?" he frowned at Hermione.

She frowned back. "It's a rather historic day in Hogwarts history. We had to let the press in."

"What's up?" Ron asked, arriving with Harry and Aurora.

"The press is on the verge of storming the castle walls just to get a snap of your revolting face," Draco said.

"Oh, really?" Ron said, craning his neck to peer over Draco's shoulder.

"Maybe we should just go to Hogsmeade and Apparate from there," Harry suggested.

"By all means, Potter, you're free to do so, but the Minister is not about to high-tail out of here because of a few reporters."

"Minister-elect," Harry corrected. "You're not Minister yet."

"Is that a threat? I can have you locked up in Azkaban for that."

"I'm Head Auror, Malfoy. Who are you going to have arrest me? Going to chase me around yourself on your old Nimbus 2001?"

Ron grinned. "Harry's still got one up on you in that department."

"And Ron's got the new Thunderbolt 3000—"

"I don't think it's particularly dignified for the Minister to be flying around on a broomstick," Draco said dismissively. "And whose side are you on anyway, Granger?"

"I was just stating a fact—"

"Because you know so much about brooms," Draco countered as he straightened his cuffs and smoothed his hair.

"God, Malfoy, you're such a girl," Ron said in disgust, though he surreptitiously ran a hand through his hair, too.

The reporters had finally spotted them and came rushing over. Draco gave Ron, who was still holding Aurora, a pointed look. "If she gets so much as jostled, Weasley, you will never have children again."

"Here," Ron said, shoving Aurora into Harry's arms. "You take her."

"Coward," Draco muttered as he swept forward with Athena.

"Pompous a—"

Hermione trod on Ron's toes before he could finish the obscenity as she sailed over to Draco's side.

"Minister Malfoy! Now that the country has rejoined the International Confederation of Wizards, what are your next plans for the Ministry?"

"Headmistress Granger! As the youngest ever to become Head of Hogwarts, do you have a plan for coping with the increasing number of international students wanting to attend?"

"You're not taking my name?" Draco asked as he guided Hermione through the throng. "Headmistress Malfoy would sound so much better."

"Than Headmistress Granger? Certainly not."

"Mr. Potter! Are you worried about making time for your family in between your Auror duties and teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Captain Weasley! Do the Chudley Cannons have any chance of finishing higher than at the bottom of their division?"

"They most certainly do!" Ron burst out angrily, but Harry pulled him away from the offending reporter before any damage could be done.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Harry, who had been exposed to the press for the longest and could cope with them the least. "Do they have to swarm us every time we're together?"

"Together, we're worth the front page for three weeks, Potter."

"Let's just go," snarled Ron, who was still being questioned on the Chudley Cannons' spectacular losing record.

"Headmistress Granger! Is it true that all house-elves at Hogwarts are now on the pay roll?"

"Mr. Potter! Can we have a glimpse of the scar for the cameras?"

"Captain Weasley! How does it feel to be captain during the worst season the Cannons have had in 300 years?"

"Oh, bloody brilliant. I'm so proud—"

"Minister Malfoy! What will be your first act as Minister of Magic?"

"I'm going to make any lie you publish punishable by a 20-year sentence in Azkaban," Draco answered promptly. That shut the lot of them up long enough for them to slip through the castle doors.

Once they made it through, Harry and Draco closed the doors before any reporters could follow them in. They nearly shut Ron out, as he stood on the top step, getting into a shouting match with one of the reporters.

"Well, that went really well," Draco said sarcastically as he hauled Ron in by the back of his robes. A particularly audacious photographer stuck his camera in to take one last shot, and Draco neatly twisted it out of his grip.

"Unbelievable, just like their father," Hermione said, surprised to see all three of her children were sound asleep. "They can sleep through anything." She glanced at Draco, who was frowning in displeasure at the rip on one of his sleeves, and realization dawned on her face. "Did you Stun them again?"

"_Again?_" Harry and Ron repeated.

"Malfoy has the horrible habit of Stunning his daughters when it's his turn to put them to bed!" Hermione said, throwing her husband a very dirty look.

"They look like angels when they sleep. I thought you'd appreciate it if they looked like sleeping cherubs instead of bawling brats on tomorrow's front page," Draco reasoned. He Disapparated with Athena before she could reply.

"Being married to the Headmistress of Hogwarts has its perks, it seems," Harry said, raising his eyebrows.

"I should revoke his access without telling him," she mused, twirling her wand. "He could use a good splinching now and then."

"Don't pretend you don't love him, Mione," Harry said. "It's getting old."

"It's sickening, really," Ron added. "You're head over heels."

"Unfortunately," she admitted, before she cried out in a perfect imitation of hysterical panic, "_DRACO!_"

She had barely Disapparated with Ariana when he reappeared again, wand at the ready.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Where is she? Where's Ariana?" Then he saw Harry and Ron, who were trying their best to look distraught and failing miserably. He angrily pocketed his wand. "I swear if she does that one more time..." His words faded away as he Disapparated once more, this time with Aurora.

"So we'll just meet at the Manor?" Ron said.

"Gin'll be furious. She's been cleaning all week, but Malfoy's right." He grimaced as if such an admission caused him physical pain. "We wouldn't be able to move an inch."

"Grimmauld isn't that small," Ron said consolingly. "Compared to the Burrow, it's big! But the Manor's just..."

"_Bigger_," Harry finished glumly. "But the building that houses Malfoy's over-inflated ego has to be enormous."

"Hermione's, too," Ron said. "Dunno how they're going to both fit. Minister of Magic and Headmistress of Hogwarts—"

"I will pretend I didn't hear that, Ronald Weasley," Hermione said, reappearing silently.

Harry and Ron both started.

"How do you do that?" Ron demanded. "_How does she do that?_" he asked Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I've been trying to get them to teach me the silent Apparition trick for years. It'd be great for Auroring, you know, possibly save my life one of these days."

"Haven't I done that enough already?" she asked cheekily. "Now go round up our guests. Don't forget to magic over all the favors and decorations."

"How did you find out?" Ron demanded angrily. "We've been planning this for two months!"

"When both of you get your heads together and giggle like silly schoolgirls—"

"We do _not_ giggle," Harry said.

"And I am _not_ Hermione Malfoy."

"Oh, you're not?" Ron said excitedly.

"We've been hoping the last eight years have been a joke," Harry added.

"The carriages will be waiting for you at the gates," Hermione sniffed.

"Oh, _hark!_ The carriages, how gracious of you! Wouldn't have wanted to walk the whole five miles from the gates to your house," Ron said.

"It's only one mile, you insufferable prat—"

Draco, who had appeared again silently at her side, cleared his throat impatiently. "What in the world is taking you so long, woman?" he demanded.

"Never you mind, and don't you dare call me that again," she said, Disapparating.

Draco growled under his breath. "What are you two staring at? Get your broods together and at my house in ten minutes, or I'll sic the press on you," he threatened before he Disapparated for a third time.

"I can't believe we're stuck with him for the rest of our lives," Ron grumbled, glaring at the space Draco had just vacated.

Harry looked at him sharply. "You don't have any regrets, do you, Ron? About how everything turned out?"

"Me? No, I like my life as it is, thank you very much," Ron said contentedly. He looked hard at Harry. "Do you?" There was a hint of threat in his voice.

"The Mirror of Erised couldn't show me anything I don't have now," Harry swore, earning a grin from Ron.

Ron stuck out a hand for Harry to shake, which the latter did heartily. "Oh, who are we kidding?" Ron said, pulling Harry in for a hug.

A snap and a flash caused both men to jump apart.

"Yes, who _are_ you kidding?" Draco drawled, tossing up the camera he had confiscated from the photographer and deftly catching it with his other hand. "Oh, Granger said not to forget Lavender's cake. But if it's as inedible as the last one, I say accidentally drop it under the carriage when you arrive."

Harry made a grab for the camera, but Draco stepped just out reach. "When are you going to stop calling Hermione by her surname?" Harry demanded.

"Never," Draco said simply. "She's Granger, I'm Malfoy, it works. Oh, and if you're not at the Manor in ten minutes, she's given me permission to hex your sorry asses into action."

"You can't do that, I'm Head Auror—"

"And I'm the Minister."

"Minister-_elect_." Harry rolled his eyes at Ron as Draco Disapparated one last time. "One of these days, his neck is going to snap from having to support that huge head of his, and then I'll really have something to celebrate."

* * *

Exactly 11 minutes later, the doors of Malfoy Manor burst open and in poured a dozen adults and nearly a score of children. Hermione and Draco were waiting for their guests in the entrance hall, looking very much like the host and hostess of old pureblood society. Hermione's royal blue dress matched Draco's tie perfectly—it was a habit they had never gotten out of—but all haughtiness was gone from their manner ... well, for Hermione, at least.

"Hello, everyone!" Hermione greeted as she hurried forward. Draco, as usual, took his time. "Remus, did you get your House settled in properly?" she asked, reaching out to steady the green-haired Teddy as he slipped on the marble floor.

"He inherited his mother's grace, this one," Lupin muttered confidentially. He smiled warmly at her. "You really shouldn't have done it, Hermione. The owls are probably dropping off Howlers at your desk already."

"I don't care how many parents complain. The students absolutely adore you. If anyone pulls their children out of Hogwarts just because you're Head of Gryffindor, then good riddance! We're starting to overcrowd anyway. Did you see how many first-years...?"

Draco drifted detachedly among his guests. They were all technically Hermione's friends, but he'd learned to tolerate them over the years. All of his friends were in Azkaban, serving sentences of varying lengths. Crabbe would be getting out soon. Maybe he'd send him an owl for old time's sake.

"Oi, don't you listen to a word my wife says, Angelina!" George was shouting to his sister-in-law across the hall. "Alicia, if you dare tell her about that, I'll..."

"...just 'ope ze children won't get into trouble because of zair cousins," Fleur was telling Bill. "We should 'ave sent them to Beauxbatons, even if 'Ermione is 'Eadmistress..."

"... because I know your team is going to do better in the second half of the season," Lavender was consoling Ron. "You haven't let a goal get past you in the last dozen games, and if only your team could catch the Snitch once in a while..."

"... Arty and Chuck are going to be our contacts inside Hogwarts," Fred was explaining to Charlie. "Fleur won't let her precious daughters do any work, though I've promised them half of everything they bring in. Pity, with the veela blood, they'd be moneymaking machines..."

"James, Lily, stay still for just one minute!" Ginny was chasing her children, trying to take their cloaks. "Master Ferret," she greeted curtly as she brushed past him.

"Mrs. Potty," he returned, with a slight, mocking bow.

"You know, Malfoy, you actually look like you're enjoying all this," Ron said, looking decidedly cheerier after Lavender's pep talk.

"No, I'm enjoying the memory of peace and quiet before you all arrived." He raised his hand to greet Kingsley, who had just arrived. "Don't steal the silverware," he threw over his shoulder as he moved toward the outgoing Minister of Magic.

Ignoring the rude gesture Ron was making, Draco shook hands with Kingsley. "Thanks for getting us back on the good side of the Confederation. Are you sure you want to Head International Magical Cooperation? Just say the word, and you can be Head Auror again. Potter's been threatening to arrest me all day."

"No, thank you, my Auroring days are over," Kingsley laughed boomingly. "When the ones you're chasing start to run faster than you, stick to diplomacy. Words never give you a side-stitch."

"You've never been in an argument with Draco, then," Hermione said, joining them. "It's quite a workout, believe me."

"On the contrary, Hermione. Every day Draco worked in MLE was a constant debate. That's how he finally ran me out of office."

"Kingsley, have you ever thought about teaching?" Hermione inquired. "I was thinking of starting a series of seminars for N.E.W.T.-level students next term, after you leave office. You know, there are a lot of students interested in diplomacy..."

Draco smirked slightly as Hermione drew Kingsley off to discuss his post-political career. She'd have him drawing up lesson plans by the end of the night.

"... asking me questions about my teaching career," Harry was saying to Tonks, who was trying to untangle Teddy's shoelaces and just making the knots worse. "You and I are just tutoring N.E.W.T.-level students who might want to be Aurors! How they even found out—"

"Oh, poor, poor Potter and his press problems," Draco drawled, tolerating a hug from Teddy. Much to Tonks' chagrin, her son was quite fond of her cousin. His green hair quickly changed to mimic Draco's silver-blond.

"Not everyone likes every moment of their life to be documented in newspapers, Malfoy," Harry said defensively.

"Maybe if you didn't run from them every single time, they wouldn't chase you."

Harry regarded Draco suspiciously. "Are you giving me _advice_, Malfoy?"

"You don't see me throwing a temper tantrum every time there are reporters waiting outside my fence."

"That's because your fence is two miles away from your house!"

"Then buy a bigger house, Potter. Merlin knows you can afford it. Or live out the rest of your life threatening to cut off limbs every time a reporter asks you a question—"

"Oh, I did answer one question today, Malfoy."

"Bravo, Potter. You get an O for Outstanding—"

"Someone asked me if one of your daughters was named in my honor. I said 'yes'."

"Are you daft? None of them—"

"Aurora. _Auror_-a."

"Oh, real witty, Potter. We're going to name the next one in your honor as well, asshole."

"Asshole Malfoy just doesn't sound right." But Harry smiled as he gave it another thought. "Actually, it kind of does."

"Okay, listen up!" Hermione said, standing two steps up the staircase so she could be seen and heard. "Athena, Ariana, and Aurora are waiting in their playroom for all of you." She held her arms out to stop the sudden surge. "But it's a tea party so everyone had better be on their best behavior."

The children, ranging from age 2 to 10, disregarded her completely and broke into an all-out run. The Malfoy playroom was the envy of all their friends.

Hermione shook her head ruefully as she led the way to the west parlor. "Eighteen magical children under the age of 10 in the same room? We'll be lucky to survive the night!"

"Good thing we moved the party to your house, Mione," Harry said, hooking a chummy arm around Draco's neck. "You can stand to lose a wing or two."

"You could stand to lose an arm or two," Draco said, removing Harry's arm from his person as if it were something slimy as they moved into the west parlor. "Front page of the _Daily Prophet_ tomorrow: Harry Potter—The Amazing Armless Auror."

He almost made it through. Almost. Hermione, who was standing by the doors of the parlor, ushering everyone in, plucked her husband out of the throng and pulled him aside.

"Be _nice_, Draco," she said, as if she were talking to one of the children. "These are our guests, and if you can't at least be cordial—"

"Oh, you know I love it when you get all Professor Granger on me," he smirked, snaking his arms around her waist. "Perhaps detention for my bad behavior later, Professor? Some corporal punishment?"

She crossed her arms, pursed her lips, and gave him a narrowed-eyed look. The effect was entirely lost on him because her pursed lips made them look all the more inviting for a kiss. And Draco Malfoy was not one to turn down an invitation...

Hermione helped by pulling on his immaculate tie and forcing his head down to her level.

"_Oi_, get a room, will you?" George shouted, picking up the camera that had been carelessly thrown on one of the sofas and threatening to take their picture.

"Front page of the _Daily Prophet _tomorrow: What Really Goes on Behind the Closed Doors of Malfoy Manor," Fred said, grabbing the camera from his twin and actually taking their picture.

"If you develop the film there, Weasley, there's a picture that will make the front page for a year," Draco said, trying to get past Hermione, but she pushed him back against the wall.

"If you wanted more, you could have just asked," Draco said, leaning down for another kiss.

Hermione jerked her head out of his reach. "I'm warning you, Draco. Behave or I will unveil your S.P.E.W. International plans tonight in front of your most loyal supporters."

"All right, all right," Draco conceded, glancing nervously at the others to make sure no one had overheard. "You know, you can't use that every time you want something done," he grumbled.

"Well, certainly not after S.P.E.W. International happens, but I'm sure I'll come up with a new crusade for you by then," she said serenely.

"Uh, Gin? Lav?" George said uncertainly, holding up a freshly developed photograph. "You might want to take a look at this..."

Draco got pure satisfaction out of seeing the looks on Harry's and Ron's faces as everyone viewed the incriminating photograph. Hermione, who had bounded over the quickest, now sat between Fred and George and was wiping tears of laughter as she watched the picture images of Harry and Ron engage in a highly emotional hug before they jumped apart with extremely guilty looks on their faces.

"Late night practice at the Quidditch pitch?" she asked. "I think not!"

"You know, I don't think Hermione Granger even exists anymore," Harry said, trying to rally the shreds of his dignity.

"You're right, mate! She's a Malfoy, through and through!" Ron agreed.

A tugging at his robes caused Draco to look down. Athena stood before him, looking up with large brown eyes made even more prominent by her light hair and features. Even though Draco was constantly jibbed about how much his daughters resembled him, they all had their mother's eyes.

He picked her up. "What's up, princess?"

She coolly observed the room full of cackling adults. "Why do people laugh?"

Draco hesitated before answering this highly philosophical question. "Because they're happy."

"Is that why Mama laughs all the time? Because she's happy?"

Draco had to smile. "Yes. She's very happy. Because of you and Ariana and Aurora—"

"And you?"

Draco couldn't help it. "Especially because of me."

"Is that why she laughs _at_ you all the time?"

Great, just like her mother. Athena was too damn smart sometimes. She was only five, but Draco would have sworn he caught her looking at _Hogwarts, A History_ the other day. "Yes, she's very happy when she does that."

A few moments passed before Athena began squirming to get out of his arms. He obliged and set her down. She skipped happily away to rejoin the tea party.

Crossing his now empty arms, Draco leaned on the doorway, tilted back his head, closed his eyes, and blocked out all other noise except the sound of his wife's laughter.

Now that was a sound he could live with forever.

And if it came with more than its share of Potters and Weasleys ... well, he could live with that too.

* * *

Oh, and just for the record, Minister Malfoy and Headmistress Granger's next child _was_ the much-awaited for son, though to Draco's dismay and Hermione's delight, Adonis Malfoy had chestnut brown hair that was every bit as curly as his mother's.

* * *

**The End**


End file.
